


A Future to This Life

by Verlaine



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verlaine/pseuds/Verlaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With half the galaxy on the verge of civil war, George Cowley of Cyborg Institute 5 sends one of his best operatives, Cyborg R4A5Y, to Murani Station to protect United Earth diplomat Dr. Harbinger. But not even Cowley is aware of the full extent of the intrigue aboard the space station. Who is the real target of the elusive assassin Ramos? What role is being played by the sinister Ambassador Rahad?</p>
<p>When R4A5Y discovers that Rahad is holding another cyborg captive, he resolves to rescue him, no matter what Cowley's orders are. But W3A7P is a different kind of cyborg altogether, and his determination to stop Rahad may force R4A5Y to choose between his mission and his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> 1) The original spark for this story was the song There's a Future (to This Life) by Joe Walsh. It formed the closing credit theme to a short-lived Canadian TV series called Robocop. A version can be found here: [ A Future to This Life](https://youtu.be/W7So8Zur4eY)
> 
>  
> 
> 2) I owe huge thanks to my long-time RL friends SJ and MF. Though neither of them have any interest in fanfic, science fiction or Pros, when they found out what I was writing this summer, they offered to beta for me. They corrected countless grammar and spelling errors, caught plot holes and made suggestions. (The whole 3D printer idea comes from MF.) Any remaining errors are mine alone.
> 
> 3) Last but definitely not least, thanks to my amazing artist loxleyprince. Not only did she supply me with reams of wonderful artwork, but her enthusiasm and encouragement kept me going several times when I was faltering. Her comments provided new ideas, and her cheerleading kept me on track. There are several scenes, and one entire chapter, that are the result of me saying, "I just have to write something to go with this piece of art!" She's been a joy to work with.
> 
> 5) Song credits: Chapters 1, 7, 8, 10 : There's a Future (to This Life): K. Gillis & J. Lenz  
> Chapter 2: Rocket Man: Elton John & Bernie Taupin  
> Chapters 3, 4, 9: Ride Across the River: Mark Knopfler  
> Chapter 5: Who Made Who: Angus Young, Malcolm Young & Brian Johnson  
> Chapter 6: Billy, Don't Lose My Number: Phil Collins

Chapter 1

_In the heart of the darkness, a light still burns_  
It takes you back there to a memory of her  
In the heart of the darkness, she's still there  
She's always holdin' on to what you share 

 

The advance surveillance post for the spaceport sat close to three klicks out from the main gate, a sleek little metal dome that resembled an oversized rubbish bin. Not much more than an automated screening device, its primary purpose was to discreetly discourage random strangers from a closer approach. Well before any intruder was within range of its limited sensor array the more powerful systems at the port proper would already be engaged. 

Except for the surveillance post and the road it guarded, no sign of human activity was visible. A forest of tall slim reeds topped with long drooping purple plumes stretched unbroken across the gently rolling countryside in all directions. In the distance rose a low escarpment crowned with more reeds, short stout ones that resembled bushy corn brooms. A few insects drifted among the plumes, occasionally lighting for a moment on the surveillance post to spread their elongated wings and soak up the warmth reflected from the metal. 

The drowsy silence of the afternoon was broken by a faint drone that gradually rose to a growling hum. A silver hovercycle swept into view on the road, moving fast enough that the electronic sensors of the surveillance post were pressed to keep up with it. The black-clad rider stretched along the cycle's frame as though part of the machine, guiding it smoothly through the bends despite the extreme speed.

Just as the surveillance post's electronics prepared to go into full emergency mode, the hovercycle braked, the deceleration so abrupt that a normal rider would have been thrown over the front of the bike. By the time the cycle drew up to the post it was moving at barely more than a sedate walking speed, the engine noise dying to no more than a murmur in the breeze.

Pulling to a stop by the surveillance post's sensor board, the rider raised his helmet’s face-shield, turning his head just enough to accommodate the visual recognition software. 

"Cyborg R4A5Y reporting for duty." 

The face reflected momentarily in the polished glass of the touchscreen was a normal human male's, except for the clear green optivisor that covered the area where human eyes would be. Before being 'borged, R4A5Y had been considered good looking, and despite the optivisor and the slight distortion in one cheekbone where accessory oxygen modules had been implanted, most of those looks remained.

Scowling, he turned to look straight ahead again. R4A5Y never looked at polished surfaces if he could avoid it.

There was a swift flicker of lights across the face of the monitor as voiceprint and facial recognition software processed the input. 

"Checkpoint alpha: Cyborg R4A5Y access approved." The surveillance post's vocalization was that of a human female, though something in the pronunciation made it clear no woman's throat had ever produced the words. "Please proceed to checkpoint beta, at a rate of speed no greater than 50 kilometers per hour."

"Ta very," R4A5Y said, revving the hovercycle engine up to a screaming pitch. The surveillance post remained silent, and after a moment he let the engine drop back to a soft hum. There really wasn't much entertainment value in taunting a machine, he thought with a flash of bitter amusement. Not even a fairly useless little monitoring post that served no real purpose except as a sop to the feelings of the local authorities.

Engaging the drive, he continued on up the road, keeping strictly at the specified speed limit. Experience had taught him not to test even his enhanced reflexes against the port's automated defense system. He left the face-shield up, his optivisor automatically switching from helmet-mode to give him an augmented visual. 

As the cycle topped a small rise, the reed forest ended abruptly. Bare ground sloped down to a long sheltered valley, in the centre of which sat the private spaceport of Cyborg Institute 5.

R4A5Y scanned the port. His infrared sensors told him there were only two living beings there, both in the main control building. He switched to electronic scan, but couldn't detect the characteristic nanite trace of a cyborg. If there were any other 'borgs on base, they were in strict power conservation mode.

He had two more checkpoints to pass, one at the bottom of the slope, where the road branched, the other at the main gate, each more stringent than the last. Inside the perimeter, beyond the control tower and service buildings, five ships sat fin-down in launch areas, waiting for assignment. R4A5Y's eyes sought one in particular, a slender pillar of russet and silver that from a distance looked too fragile to cope with the rigours of deep space travel. A faint smile stretched his mouth for a moment. Appearances were deceiving. His ANN was the sweetest ship he'd ever flown: fast, manoeuvrable and completely reliable. 

He set the cycle in motion again, now merely puttering toward the next checkpoint. When he reached it, he once more brought the cycle to a stop, this time removing his helmet completely. 

"Cyborg R4A5Y reporting for duty," he said again.

"Please remove your optical enhancement gear for iris scan," the automated voice requested.

The cyborg's mouth tightened for an instant. "Check your data input. Designation R4A5Y. My optics are built in."

"Affirmative, R4A5Y. Please present your appendage of choice for genetic analysis."

"Know where I'd like to present an appendage," he muttered, but tugged off his right glove and pressed his forefinger to the analytical plate.

The checkpoint hummed to itself for a moment, as it analyzed voiceprint, visual data and skin cells.

"Identity confirmed. Scheduled report time for Cyborg R4A5Y: sixteen hundred hours." The checkpoint's mechanical voice managed to sound slightly peevish. "Current time: seventeen hundred hours seventeen."

"Had to see a man about a dog," R4A5Y replied.

"Current time: seventeen hundred hours seventeen," it repeated.

R4A5Y pulled the glove back on with a sharp jerk, and remained silent. There were times when he enjoyed playing word games with the automated system, to see how far he could go before a human supervisor intervened, but today he couldn't summon up the necessary interest. 

After a long moment of silence, the checkpoint hummed again and said, "Checkpoint beta: access approved. Proceed to auxiliary gate, Cyborg R4A5Y."

"What, I don't have to drop trou for Big Brother at the main gate?" 

"Proceed to auxiliary gate, Cyborg R4A5Y." The security station went dark.

R4A5Y raised his eyebrows, but obediently turned the hovercycle down the branch road that led to the gate accessing the service buildings. As he approached, the gate slid open and with a sigh of regret he let the hovercycle drift through and banked toward the small hanger set aside for on-base cyborgs. 

There were a dozen stalls in the building, each containing a set of lockers, and several a personal transport vehicle of some kind. Cyborg operatives were discouraged from accumulating personal possessions, but short of keeping them confined permanently to a base there was no alternative to allowing them some type of transportation. R4A5Y privately thought that many of the higher-ups would be happier if cyborgs in fact were deactivated and put in storage between missions, if the presence of bio-components didn't make that impossible.

Despite all the advantages of cyborgs, there were still drawbacks to the fleshware.

R4A5Y idled the cycle into the stall that had been designated for his use and let the motor die. With quick efficiency, he hooked up the charger lines and ran a cleaning wand over the machine before pulling the dust cover up and securing it. The automatic seal pulled tight, and the hovercycle was stowed safely—ten hours or a hundred years would be all the same to the system.

Dialling up his optivisor, he examined the touchplate on his locker. Under hi-res, there were no signs of tampering—no shed skin cells, no trace of lubricant or disturbed dust on the three keys he had primed. If anyone had tried to access his locker, they’d had better tech than he did. Not that he'd be stupid enough to keep anything he actually wanted to hide in a locker on base, no matter how good the security.

He keyed the locker open, and stripped off his helmet and cycling leathers. Underneath, he wore a standard spacer’s coverall in dark blue. With his gear stowed, he locked up, and gave the hovercycle one last wistful pat before heading out of the hanger toward the landing zone. His steps quickened just a bit as he approached the area where his ship waited.

CI5 owned the spaceships—much as it owned the cyborgs—but turned a blind eye to agents putting their own stamp on the systems they worked with, providing no one went overboard. Unlike the martial themes or colours many favoured, making their ships into reflections of their weapons systems, R4A5Y had chosen to supplement the standard ceramic/nanofibre body with an overlay that wove microbeads in shades of gold, orange and red into an ever-shifting mosaic over the pale hull. The effect was much like watching autumn leaves drift across a marble floor.

Her designation—ANN7380973—shone in bright red-gold glowsparks just above the entry hatch.

R4A5Y looked up at the hull with a smile that was at once fond and slightly bitter. His ship was as much a prison as a refuge, the outward symbol of the Cyborg Institutes' ownership. For cyborgs, there were very few options.

CI5 made sure of that.

The random swirl of colours above him coalesced across the silver into a pattern that reminded him of a woman's hair falling around her shoulders. It was a sign that ANN's external sensors had noticed him. 

R4A5Y's smile softened slightly. 

They had a few such signals between them, subtle enough to escape the notice of even the CI5 technicians who serviced them both. In theory, any ship and any cyborg could function well together; R4A5Y had flown other ships on missions, and their performance had been within acceptable parameters. But ANN7380973 was something special. When their circuits were in sync it felt as if they were one brain and body working flawlessly together. Their evaluations regularly put R4A5Y in the top three percent of CI5 field agents. There was no rule on the books against a cyborg preferring one ship over another, but R4A5Y had learned a healthy distrust of those who controlled his life. Not showing them any sign of weakness was second nature by now.

Puling off his gloves again, he placed his hand on the DNA scanner at the airlock, and spoke.

"Cyborg R4A5Y reporting for duty," he said one last time. "Activation, ANN7380973."

"ANN7380973 activated." The hatch slid open. 

He stepped into the vestibule, a circular area enclosed in pale green ceramic and glassene, blue and green microbeading outlining the doors leading to the engine compartments and weapons bay, and forming a constantly flowing staircase up the well in the centre of the ship. He'd designed ANN's interior to be cool and restful, a place where he could relax during missions and feel secure.

When the hatch spiralled shut behind him, he said, "Engage security level three."

"Security level three engaged. Welcome home, Ray." 

"Good to be back, Ann. All quiet on the home front?"

"We have a new assignment, sent via interactive holo from Controller Cowley, accessible immediately. And you require nanite reconfiguration in three hundred and ninety seconds." There was a faint edge to ANN's voice, that in a human would have been anxiety or even disapproval. "Colloquialism: You are cutting it close."

"Three hundred ninety seconds?" R4A5Y laughed teasingly. "I’ve got time to brew up a cuppa first."

"Three hundred seventy-eight seconds. Please proceed to medbay for reconfiguration."

"I feel fine," he said, even as he ran a quick internal diagnostic. "All systems within acceptable parameters." 

While that was true, he noted that several were only just within the greenline. ANN was right: he had been cutting it close, unwilling to give up the feeling of freedom he got from racing the hovercycle across the empty countryside. 

R4A5Y hooked two fingers into the upwards flow of microbeads and let it carry him along. The ship had three levels: the entryway, the crew quarters, and the flight deck. The medbay was in the second level, along with the living area and his bedroom. As he stepped off the microbead line onto the landing his left knee momentarily refused to take his weight, making him stumble slightly.

“Two hundred and eighty-three seconds, Ray. Please hurry.”

Like all the others on the ship, the medbay door was a tracing of blue and green in the paler ceramic hull. Everything inside was designed to keep him at optimal function, yet he found himself hesitating, before another spasm, this time in his right calf, reminded him forcibly of what he was.

Cyborg. 

Utterly dependent on the nanites in his blood and his fluid systems to stay alive.

Utterly dependent on CI5.

Teeth bared in a snarl, he pushed through the microbeads into the medbay. The simple platform in front of him gave no outward indication of how sophisticated its internal mechanisms were. Shrugging out of his coverall, he stepped up into the body cradle, shoved in the mouth guard, and closed his eyes. Despite how often he'd undergone reconfiguration, he never felt comfortable watching as the glassite fibres emerged from the med console and found the jacks implanted in his neck, wrists, groin and ankles. They reminded him too much of worms.

“Initializing reconfiguration.” ANN’s voice was soothing. “The process will require two hundred and forty seconds.”

“Get on with it,” R4A5Y grated.

The flush always began slowly, spreading outward from the implants through his limbs and body. It felt like being filled with heated soda water, bubbly fizzing warmth moving through him, bringing with it a feeling of energy and vitality. If it had stopped there, he wouldn’t have minded reconfiguration at all. But the heat increased steadily and the bubbling turned into a relentless scouring, until it felt as if he were being rinsed out with boiling acid, stripped of every sensation except pain. No matter how hard he tried, R4A5Y could never hold himself above or beyond the pain. 

The cradle held him motionless, the mouth guard muffling his involuntary sounds of pain.

He concentrated on the one thing that always got him through.

Deep inside, in a place he hid with a savage and desperate cunning, he still thought of himself as human. Despite all the indoctrination and conditioning of CI5, there was a stubborn core of him—the part that once had been a man—that would never answer to R4A5Y. 

His name was Doyle. 

Once he'd been more than a construct of carbon fibre and silicon and high-res wiring, designed to maximize the remaining functions of the fleshware. 

Once he'd been Doyle.

Despite the pain, the real horror of reconfiguration for R4A5Y was not physical, but the fear that one day, the process would wipe away the last remnants of who he had been. One day, he might rise from the medbay cradle with no memory of Doyle, no feeling of being human, just as much a machine as ANN.

Even though ANN always told him how long the process would take, he never truly trusted that. It had been explained to him that his internal sensors had to be shut down in order for a full-system reconfiguration to be effective, but he sometimes wondered if it wasn't really just a technique to disorient him. ANN could have kept him under for five seconds or five years and he would have no objective way to tell how much time had passed. In some of his paranoid moments, he wondered if in fact he wasn't sometimes deactivated and put in storage during these sessions.

He never asked. He wasn't sure if it would be worse if ANN lied or told the truth.

When the fizzing and boiling inside him finally stopped, he lay motionless, panting, simply savouring each millisecond free from pain. He could hear himself whimpering, an ugly sound like a sob on each indrawn breath. The cradle under him was slick, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was merely sweat or if he’d actually pissed himself.

"Reconfiguration complete," ANN said. "You postponed reconfiguration too long, and your nanites required 73% upgrading. I recommend a rest period now, Ray."

Groggily, he forced his eyes open. All the glassite fibres had been retracted, and he was free to move. 

He spat out the mouth guard. “I need to wash,” he grunted. It took two attempts before he was able to sit up.

He made it out of the cradle in an ungainly heave, but his knees buckled and he slid to the floor, saved from a face-first fall only by a clumsy grab at the side of the cradle. Leaning against the platform, he let his head drop and concentrated on breathing.

"Ray?"

"I'll be okay. Just give me a minute, luv."

"I did warn you."

"Colloquialism: sod off!" R4A5Y snapped. After a moment of offended silence, he added, "Sorry, Ann. That was a bad one."

"I can be of no help if you insist on pushing the boundaries of your physical structure. "Nanite reconfiguration is not optional in cyborgs."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. I'll be a good boy from now on."

"Colloquialism: that'll be the day."

R4A5Y laughed, a bit hoarsely but still genuinely amused. CI5 nanny or not, ANN was good for him.

"Print me a clean coverall, would you?"

"Certainly. Shall I print a meal as well?"

After reconfiguration he always needed calories, but at the moment his stomach rebelled at the very thought of food. 

"Something light," he decided. 

He spent a long time in the mister, letting the damp heat soak into his still shivering flesh. He used the time to fold up the memories of Doyle and tuck them back into their hiding place. Nothing from the past was of use to him in the world he now inhabited. By the time he emerged, clean and dripping, he was functional as R4A5Y once again.

In front of the printer in the living area sat a new coverall, and a tray with a covered bowl and mug. He slipped into the coverall, leaving the upper tabs unfastened. At least alone on the ship, he could be comfortable with no one to see the scars and implants on his torso.

Carrying the tray with him, he hooked into the microbead ladder again and let it sweep him up to the flight deck. Settling into the pilot's seat, he took a slurp from the mug, noting gratefully that it was tea lacing with ginger and cardamom. Just what his stomach needed. He set aside the bowl for later and called up the virtual holoframe.

"Let's see what we've got then, Ann."

The lights dimmed slightly, and a holoframe appeared in the cabin in front of him. An image of older man with thinning sandy hair materialized in it, and limped forward, holding out a hand in greeting.

"Permission to come aboard, R4A5Y?"

"What do you say, Ann? Do we let the riff-raff in?"

George Cowley's image scowled at him, and for a moment R4A5Y grinned back. It was all interactive holography and responsive programming—the real Cowley was at CI5 headquarters in the heart of Albion territory, and the core message could be hours or even days old. But still, he'd once had a feeling of wry respect, even affection, for the old man; in a way they'd been friends. Or rather, _Doyle_ and Cowley had once been friends. 

"Holoprogram can be terminated at your request, R4A5Y." ANN was using what R4A5Y thought of as her semi-public voice, a more formal tone and expression than she used when they were alone, but without the mechanical flatness of lower-level artificial neural networks.

"None of that, now, ANN7380973." Cowley's scowl deepened slightly. "We have an assignment for you two. Have you been keeping up with the news?"

"I've been on leave, sir," R4A5Y said tightly. "I try to keep away from depressing subjects when I'm off duty."

Cowley clicked his tongue in exasperation, but continued. "The situation between the Albion Empire and the Awaräe Combine has become markedly worse. We've tried to keep it as quiet as possible, but there have been three armed skirmishes on the frontiers, and there are rumours the Combine has infiltrated undercover agents into the refugees at some border systems."

"Sounds like we might be heading for all-out war."

"Which is why there are heavy diplomatic efforts are under way. Albion wouldn't lose a war, mind you, but the disruptions in trade alone would cause unacceptable levels of damage across the systems."

"Not to mention all the casualties," R4A5Y said dryly.

"Aye, that too." Cowley had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Negotiations will commence shortly. Sheikh Achmeia of the Murani Caliphate has offered a neutral location, and Dr. Harbinger of the United Earth diplomatic services has agreed to act as an intermediary.”

"So where do we come in?"

"Sheikh Achmeia has contacted us to request specialized bodyguards."

R4A5Y grunted in exasperation. "Oh, christ, a nurse-maiding job? You pulled me off leave for that?"

Cowley shook his head in exasperation. "Three days ago, this man passed through the customs checkpoint at Louderis Station." 

Another image appeared beside Cowley, a tall dark-haired human wearing a black optivisor and a thick gold medallion on a chain around his neck. R4A5Y took a sharp breath.

"Ramos?" 

Some criminals captured public imagination even across as wide a galactic sphere as humanity now occupied. One of them was the master assassin known only as Ramos. His perfect kill record and flawless execution of outrageously daring plans made him seem larger than life. Despite the outrage of authority, and huge rewards for his capture, he thumbed his nose with impunity at the best efforts of law enforcement across half a galaxy.

Cowley nodded. "Ramos. By the time the ID filtered back to CI5, the ship was long gone."

"Let me guess, the flight plan they'd filed was a decoy?"

"Completely. So now we have a known assassin loose in Albion space, and no idea where he is or what he's up to."

R4A5Y glowered at the holoframe. "So who am I minding: the sheikh or the diplomat?"

"At the moment, I've assigned you to Dr. Harbinger. Murphy is on his way to Murani right now to meet with Sheikh Achmeia."

"Calculating mission probabilities," ANN announced. "Using as a baseline the previous success rates of subject Ramos, I calculate a 67.3 percent probability that any target will be killed, and subject Ramos make a successful escape. On adjusted parameters, I calculate a 54.3 percent probability that both the target and subject Ramos will be killed."

R4A5Y whistled. "Doesn't say much for security, does it?"

Cowley ignored him. "So, ANN7380973, any insight as to who Ramos will target?"

ANN was silent for a moment, then responded, "The highest probability is Dr. Harbinger, followed by Sheikh Achmeia. Diplomats from either the Albion Empire or Awaräe Combine are lesser probabilities, depending on their identity."

"On your assessment, how can we maximize mission success?"

"Based on past performance of subject Ramos, the survival of subject Harbinger is unlikely. Adjusting parameters to assume subject Harbinger is expendable, the elimination of subject Ramos becomes a much higher probability. It will depend on how you define mission success."

"I'll define it as Harbinger alive, and Ramos in custody. How does that calculate, hmm?" 

"13.4 percent, assuming that CI5 casualties are not a consideration. I do not recommend such a mission statement."

"That low?" Cowley murmured, with a flicker of amusement. "I'm not sure Brian Macklin would agree with your assessment of R4A5Y."

"Then bring in somebody Macklin rates higher. _I_ wouldn't mind finishing my leave," R4A5Y snapped. 

"Then it's just as well I'm running CI5 and not you, isn't it?"

R4A5Y winced internally at the light of battle in Cowley's eyes. When the old man got that look, men and cyborgs alike knew to double-check their body armour.

"You're right, though. The ANN here at HQ has calculated similar results. Which is why I've decided it's high time for me to pay a courtesy visit to my old friend Sheikh Achmeia. Perhaps offer him a bit of advice on security."

"And who'll be nurse-maiding you, while Murph and I dance around after the important people?"

"I was taking care of myself before you were born, R4A5Y. Don't be so sure the old dog doesn't have teeth."

"It's not the teeth I'm worried about." R4A5Y gave the image a hard look. "Any other surprises we need to watch out for?"

"The Awaräe delegation will include Representative Dignitary Tennar, several junior ambassadors, and at least one military attaché. I've sent all the data presently available to your ANN. Do your homework, get a move on. I'll see you at Murani."

The holoframe winked out. For a long moment, R4A5Y stared at the blank space were the image had been. Shaking his head slowly, he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"The old bastard. Talk about tethered goats."

"Query: does this term 'tethered goat' indicate that Controller Cowley is deliberately offering himself as bait for subject Ramos?"

R4A5Y laughed softly. "Bait, distraction, additional bodyguard, whatever you want to call it, he's in. I'd say he didn't like your calculations."

"Further query: is there a reason why Controller Cowley exhibits discomfort when dealing with me?"

R4A5Y shrugged. "I think he's one of those people who figures automated neural networks should be seen and not heard. And . . ." his voice trailed off. 

"And?" ANN prompted gently.

"He used to know Doyle. I bet he'd be happier never having to deal with R4A5Y."

"Observation: that is counter-productive to the long-term goals of CI5 in this case. Controller Cowley requires reconfiguration."

R4A5Y burst out laughing. "Was that a joke, Ann?" he gasped out.

"Did I fail to appropriately indicate sarcasm mode?"

R4A5Y chuckled again. "That's my girl." He settled himself more comfortably into the pilot's chair, and inserted a data-jack into his wrist. "Ping me the file the old man left, and then run a data sieve. I want everything on the public ether about Ramos, Dr. Harbinger, the Awaräe Combine, and how the political situation between Albion and the Combine is playing out.

"And meanwhile, talk nicely to the port's ANN, and get us in the lift-off queue."

"As you wish, Ray." ANN's voice was troubled. "I will point out that even with the most optimistic calculations, the parameters of mission success do not include our long-term survival. Colloquialism: we are up the creek without a paddle."

"Wrong colloquialism, luv." R4A5Y stretched slightly, and patted the console beside him. "We're fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_And I think it's gonna be a long long time_  
'Til touchdown brings me round again to find  
I'm not the man they think I am at home  
I'm a rocket man 

 

Bodie dreamed of death. 

His theta waves were filled with flames, his body crushed inside a lifepod labouring to keep him alive even as poison gasses overwhelmed its filters and the cold of near-vacuum space slowed its systems to a crawl. He burned and froze and choked, helplessly trapped in the malfunctioning wreckage of his fighter.

He knew it was a dream. The images had filled this dark and empty space often enough that he knew, no matter what he tried to do or not do, it turned out the same. In the real world, he'd managed at the end to manually override the failsafes, and forced the damn pod to just let him die. In his dreams, even knowing it was hopeless, he couldn't prevent himself from struggling for survival long past the point when his rational mind told him he would already be dead.

_Krivas had buggered them up before the mission ever got off the ground. The Albion intel had been spotty at best, and even Frenchy had argued with Krivas, insisting they needed to get a better view of the situation before they engaged. Frenchy was the only one who could talk sense into Krivas once he got himself worked up about some crazy get-rich-quick plan, but this time the lure of liquid credits had been too strong for any second thoughts to hold much weight. The Albions were offering not just liquid, but salvage rights too, and that clinched it for everyone._

_Then Benny had been late. That set off Bodie's bullshit alarm, because there was no reason for it. Benny had an excuse, as always, smirking about a woman he wanted to spend time with before shipping out, but Bodie couldn't persuade the hair on the back of his neck to lie down._

_If it had been Bodie's command, he would have called the raid off, or at least changed tactics. Sometimes in the dreams, he argued with Krivas too, and sometimes Krivas ignored Bodie and sometimes he shot him. The worst of the dreams were the ones in which Krivas ordered the others to strap him, wounded and bleeding, into the drone fighter they used as a decoy, and sent him into space without life support._

_As it turned out, the intel was worse than spotty. By the time they lifted, the Awaräe convoy was already past the optimum intercept vector, and they'd had to burn gravity just trying to catch up. The only saving grace was that in the time it took them, the fighters waiting in ambush had been burning gravity too. The dogfight was a rout, but not as bad as it would have been if they'd been caught completely down-grav of the enemy._

_The drone fighter—Krivas' standard trick—spiraled out of control through the enemy formation, the perfect distraction to allow the rest of the squad to get into position. But whoever had been in command of the Awaräe group must have seen that one before. Instead of responding to the decoy, he'd pulled half his wing out of the down-grav, and sent them straight up on intercept. Burning gravity that hard was always a risky tactic; being stranded without enough drive to make it back to base was close to a guaranteed death sentence._

_It was also one of the few things that Krivas, with his disdain for conventional command structures, hadn't anticipated, and they were caught flat-footed. Still, Krivas and his crew were vicious and experienced fighters, and they wanted the credits badly. They fought like cornered rats. Bodie, as the best long-range gunner, was up-grav of the lot, picking off the Awaräe fighters with calm precision._

_For almost two whole minutes Bodie thought they might be able to pull it off._

_Then the Pole took a hit, and Tub lost one electron gun, and suddenly Benny was running for up-grav, hurling his fighter away from the battle at top speed. Krivas shrieked curses over the com, but the odds were now too long. The fight was lost in under three minutes._

_Bodie considered sending an ion burst after Benny just on principle, but before he could follow through, a pair of phased electro-pulses hit his fighter head-on. The double-tap took out the shields and fried the entire navigation and control system instantly._

_Jacked into the flight system as he was, the pulse nearly fried Bodie as well. He remembered screaming and clawing at his inputs, trying to rip himself out of what felt like a suit of solid flame. When the system crashed, it was even worse. Complete silence, complete darkness, utter lack of sensation—for a moment, he'd wondered if the pulse back-wash had actually killed him, and he was doomed to drift in this nothingness forever._

_Sometimes those dreams of black empty nothingness were a comfort. At least in them there was no pain._

_He wasn't sure how long he drifted in the void before some random movement knocked his head back against the seat, pushing his visor askew. The sudden return of sensation was disorienting enough that he nearly passed out again._

_By the time Bodie recovered enough to attempt a manual reset, the fighter was drifting slowly away from the convoy, out of reach of any of the remaining ships. At one point in his tumbling progress the viewport swung back toward the battleground, and he could make out streaks of acceleration as several fighters fled for up-grav and the emptiness of open space. What was left of Krivas' crew were running for their lives._

_Leaving him behind._

Bodie's eyes flew open.

Gasping with panic, he tried to roll to his feet, only to be brought up short after a few millimetres. Frantic, he kicked and pulled, but the only result was a dull rattling noise, and pain around his biceps and ankles.

What shocked him even more than being restrained was how fast his energy gave out. Just a few seconds of flailing about and his arms and legs felt like jelly. Drawing on every ounce of discipline he possessed, Bodie forced himself slow his breathing and lie still and assess his surroundings.

His first impression was one of cold and darkness. He was stretched flat on a cold hard surface, in a dimly lit room. When he looked to the side, he saw why he couldn't move: he was lying on some kind of a metal table, heavy-duty carbon-fibre clamps just above his elbows pinning his arms to the table. Raising his head, he saw a similar arrangement around his ankles.

That wasn't the worst.

With uncomprehending horror, he looked down at a complex mass of wiring and electronics where his chest should have been. He could see burned and bloody bits of flesh inside what looked like a ceramic half-body shell. His left arm ended at the elbow, and the right was only a ceramic-polymer skeleton from the shoulder down. 

Bodie tried to scream, but no sound emerged.

_Got no lungs. Bastards took my lungs._

It's a dream, he thought wildly. Just another dream. I'm dead, or dying or in a med-bay under anaesthetic, and it's all a fucking dream!

"Oxygen consumption rate 10% over red-line," a voice said from the air. "Blood pressure entering danger level for artery repairs. Shut it down."

Everything went dark.

_Three reboot attempts later, Bodie faced the brutal facts. His engines were off-line, and the navigation system non-responsive. Overriding all systems to manual control gave him some very limited manoeuvring power using what was left of his inertial momentum, but not enough to make it back to base. With the Awaräe fighters searching the area for survivors, it was only a matter of time before he was captured._

_Not that time was something he had a lot of in any case. Life support was holding on by a thread, and he was badly injured. Half his body was completely unresponsive, including his visor display, and after a while it dawned on him that the backwash of energy from the phased pulses had probably given him a massive stroke. He'd shut down the ship's automated medical facilities to divert whatever power they used to the control systems, and could no longer switch them back. All he had left was whatever first-aid capacity remained in his flightsuit, and he suspected that was as damaged as his body._

_The only grim relief was that at least he couldn't feel most of it._

_With only half his field of vision functional and the ship's external sensors off-line, Bodie didn't see the asteroid he was being pulled toward until some slight gravitational effect made the ship wobble enough to bring the left view screen around. Watching the greenish-grey mass loom ever closer gave him no feeling of hope: there were no inhabitable bodies in this system. Even if he could land the fighter, there was no way to repair it and no hope of rescue._

_In the end the decision was taken out of Bodie's hands. The asteroid's gravity easily overcame his angular momentum, and the best he could do with what controls were left was drag the ship into a decaying orbit that brought him down slowly instead of in a straight crash. He managed to bleed off speed by getting the ship nearly half-way round the elongated oval before he finally could no longer keep it aloft. Having only one functioning hand and one functioning eye, Bodie made a mess of the landing. The fighter jolted, skidded, bounced off various rocks hard enough to almost launch it back into orbit. By the time it came to a halt, Bodie was unconscious again, and the ship's air was escaping through dozens of microscopic cracks in the fuselage._

_Even if the fighter had been intact, he couldn't have lasted long on the little moon. The damaged life support system couldn't cope for any length of time with a corrosive methane-fluorine atmosphere, laced with particles of argon frozen solid in the cold of near space. The fighter tried valiantly, but there simply weren't enough undamaged systems left to cannibalize to rebuild adequate life support. Bodie barely had time to be grateful that his injuries were severe enough he probably wouldn't last until the atmosphere ate through the damaged shielding._

_Those dreams were bad, too: the ones in which he was still conscious when the glassene finally imploded and let the poison gases howl in to freeze and flay him alive. ___

__When Bodie awoke again, after another interminable series of dreams, he kept his eyes shut for a long time before he summoned up the nerve to look around. Exercising every ounce of self-control he possessed, he managed not to struggle when he found himself still strapped to the metal table. He was more aware this time, or perhaps some of his dreams had subconsciously prepared him for reality._ _

__There were three rules of survival as a mercenary in the Rim systems: always get at least half the liquid up front, never take your client's word for anything, and don't get caught._ _

__The scraping noise Bodie made might have been a laugh if his throat hadn't been so dry. Krivas had broken rule two, which led directly to Bodie breaking rule three, and rule one was being energetically followed by someone without Bodie's best interests in mind. By the looks of it, he and his damaged fighter had been salvaged, and instead of being allowed to die and be decently disposed of, someone had decided to make a little extra profit on an illegal 'borg job._ _

__Because this had to be illegal. The Cyborg Institutes had a reputation for being ruthless, but not even CI5 would 'borg someone without consent. Like many people on the dodgy side of the law, Bodie knew vaguely of George Cowley and CI5, and what had always reluctantly impressed him was Cowley's reputation for a kind of iron integrity. Even those who hated him did so with a grudging respect._ _

__Bodie forced himself to examine dispassionately what had been done to him. His left arm still ended at the elbow, but it was now fitted with an implant shield and a series of jack ports. The arm had essentially been converted to a multi-purpose tool handle. His right arm consisted of molded carbon-fibre over the ceramic skeleton. A beautiful job, he thought, looking at the fine details of the fingers and the wrist joint. Put a sleeve and glove on him, and nobody could ever tell it wasn't flesh and blood._ _

__Except he could probably crush solid dura-steel without even breaking a sweat._ _

__To his surprise, his body cavity was still open. The burned and torn flesh had either had time to heal or had been removed with microsurgery, but the machinery Bodie was quite sure was all that kept him alive still lay exposed._ _

__Functioning, Bodie thought grimly. Not alive. Not any longer._ _

__He tried to test the bonds holding him in place, and wasn't surprised to find that nothing responded. They hadn't been stupid enough to leave anything powered up that might get him loose._ _

__A noise just outside of his field of view made Bodie tense, and then hastily relax and close his eyes. Useless, if anyone had been monitoring him from whatever control room this place had, but if he could make them think he didn't realize that—_ _

__There was a soft swishing sound that had to be a door opening, followed by the brisk rap of several sets of feet._ _

__They were damn sure of themselves, he thought. Those were not the footsteps of people worried about being surprised in an illegal 'borg lab._ _

__"We were not expecting you so soon, sir. We haven't had a chance to finish the exterior, or to completely cap off the neural systems." The voice was a woman's, sharp, with the chopped-off vowels of the Rim System._ _

__"All the better. I can take delivery immediately then." There was an undertone in that deep urbane voice that made what was left of Bodie's skin crawl. Involuntarily his eyes opened._ _

__Standing by the table was an olive-skinned, dark-eyed man in a nattily tailored flight suit. Black hair and beard perfectly barbered, a platinum-edged data-visor peeking out of one pocket, more platinum and what looked genuine gamma-diamonds trimming his cufflinks, he looked as if good taste and refinement had been genetically grafted onto him. He was looking up and down Bodie's body with a mixture of loathing and craving that sent a sharp stab of fear through Bodie._ _

__At the periphery of his vision, Bodie could see two obvious bodyguards, both wearing prism guns on their flight suits, and three others he assumed were the techs who'd 'borged him, judging by their lab coats and microtool attachments. None of them looked like the kind who would lift a finger to oppose the man looming over him._ _

__"I truly don't recommend that, sir." The woman who had spoken before approached the opposite side of the gurney. "We haven't even performed basic safety procedures."_ _

__"But it does function?" the man snapped._ _

__"Of course, Ambassador Rahad. We simply need a bit more time."_ _

__The man went very still, his eyes rising to study her across the gurney. "You've recognized me then?"_ _

__"I . . ." She faltered to a halt, fiddling uneasily with the chain of the faceted magnifying lenses that hung from her neck. "We do take some precautions when a deal involves this much liquid." Her voice grew firmer. "I'm sure you understand."_ _

__"Of course," Rahad said smoothly. "And you will be properly paid."_ _

__Stupid cow, Bodie thought savagely. He tried to shout a warning, but nothing emerged except a faint wheeze of air._ _

__Rahad snapped his fingers, and the bodyguards drew their guns. The three techs were dead before any of them even had a chance to turn their heads._ _

__"Paid in full," Rahad said. He went back to staring down at Bodie. "Find the controls."_ _

__A few moments later one of the bodyguards held out a small roll of clear circuitfibre. Rahad unrolled it eagerly, his fingers hovering just over the range of colourful icons that filled the page._ _

__"Well, well," he said, with a smile of intense satisfaction. "Shall we see what this one does?"_ _

__He touched a fingertip to one of the icons, and Bodie shrieked._ _

__B &DB&DB&DB&D_ _

__Bodie groaned and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, biting back a curse as his body protested even that small movement. Every muscle and joint ached, and his lower back throbbed relentlessly with the memory of boots. As he tried pushing himself a bit to one side, his chest and belly flared with deeper agony. More kicks, or had that been a whipping? With another muffled sound of pain he sank back onto the surface he'd been lying on._ _

__Time to regroup, take stock of the situation. At the moment he wasn't entirely sure he could move, so gathering intelligence was the next best option. Conserve his strength, make plans, be ready to act when the opportunity arose._ _

__He looked around, and had to fight back a laugh that was close to hysteria._ _

__The room he was in was almost a caricature of dungeons, straight out of an old-fashioned holo-romance: a small cell cut out of rock, its door part of a sheaf of iron bars roughly grouted into the stone floor. Instead of the carbon-fibre clamps that had held him in the lab, he wore ancient iron leg shackles. Several more sets of manacles like the ones holding him dangled from the wall. The only light came from a torch out in the corridor, leaving most of the cell in shadows. The air was cool and damp and reeked of rot and old blood._ _

__All of it was an illusion. How much of it was hologram and how much VR, Bodie wasn't sure: the dataport in the side of his head wasn't engaged, but for all he knew, that was an illusion too. Hell, for all he knew he was unconscious, strapped to a gurney in Rahad's private medbay, everything he thought he felt being fed straight to his mind from some AI program._ _

__The only thing he was sure wasn't an illusion was the pain. Rahad had done that personally. The ambassador enjoyed a fine line in torture, knew just how much flesh and blood—_ _

__A sound caught in his throat. It wasn't flesh and blood, not any more. Plastic, ceramic, carbon fibre, even some metal, but about half of him was no longer flesh and blood. Not that it mattered: all Rahad had to do was stroke a fingertip along that godawful control sheet, and Bodie's sensor inputs would feel it all as if he still had a complete human nervous system._ _

__He'd also lost track of time. Had Rahad deliberately tampered with his inner chronometer, or had the torture sessions damaged it by accident? There was no way to know, and no way to work out how long it had been since Rahad and his men had collected him from the 'borg lab. The torture sessions all bled together, and the time between was simply blank—it could be minutes or years. Well, no, not years: he couldn't recall Rahad ever looking any older, so presumably he wasn't being put on stand-by for any substantial periods._ _

__They'd made him a thing, something that could be owned and used, put together and taken apart, tortured for the amusement of a madman like Rahad._ _

__The bastards even tried to take his name._ _

__W3A7P._ _

__Carefully stamped on all his components, no matter how small, to ensure that anywhere he went, whether in the Awaräe Combine, Albion, the Rim systems or the independents, he could be identified and tracked down. Even if he could get free, there was nowhere for a cyborg to run._ _

__Bodie closed his eyes and forced himself into utter stillness, trying to keep the expression of outraged terror off his face. I've been a soldier, he reminded himself. I've been in the kind of fights these bastards have never even dreamed of, and survived._ _

__He pulled in a deep breath and let it out. He was not W3A7P._ _

__Never._ _

__He was Bodie, just Bodie, and not even bloody fucking Rahad and his little control sheet could change that._ _

__He had to be careful. Like most people, he'd been aware of cyborgs but hadn't given their creation or function much thought; nobody wanted to contemplate their own fragility that much. Now he would pay for that ignorance through his own body. It was already obvious—painfully obvious, he thought with a rueful twist of his mouth—that Rahad could control him physically with his little sheet of icons. He didn't want to find out the bastard could make his mind dance and squeal to the same tune._ _

__And that meant being very careful. He couldn't do anything to make Rahad think controlling his mind would be a good idea._ _

__Assuming of course that Rahad was not already controlling his mind, making him think he had an illusion of free will and independent thought left._ _

__The first step was to find out just what his new body was capable of._ _

__A good fighter doesn't need a weapon, he _is_ a weapon. The words of a long-ago instructor, hammered in through endless training sessions, came back to Bodie. _ _

__I'm a weapon, Bodie thought savagely. Rahad picked the wrong person to fuck with._ _

__Bodie relaxed against the cold stone under him, slowed his breathing again, and started searching for the capabilities of his new body._ _

__It was a frustrating and unnerving process. Never sure if something he tried didn't work because it had been inhibited or because he wasn't doing it correctly, Bodie at first came close to despair. Something as simple as clenching a fist took enough work to leave him sweating. It felt as if he had to push every nerve impulse along by sheer effort of will._ _

__It had to be his imagination, but it seemed almost as if he could feel the raw edges where his nervous system and cyborg neural net connected, places still too sore and sensitive to deal with the unaccustomed passing of impulses. He had a sense, more a feeling than real knowledge, that much of this was due to torture, that the deliberate overloading of his systems had disrupted what should have been gradual integration. He fought down his impatience, fought the instinct to try to bend his new systems to his will. Like it or not, this new body was what he had to work with. Treating it like some alien to be forced into submission might work in the short run, but in the long term he needed complete integration._ _

__That's it, he coaxed. One finger. Two fingers. Bend, stretch, bend, stretch. Now toes. That's good._ _

__By the time Rahad came again, Bodie had managed to gain at least partial control over his right arm. He could move the fingers, form a fist, even bend his elbow. Not quickly or gracefully, true, but it was a start. And even better, in the process he was discovering the capacity of his cyborg components. Give him some time, and this new body would be formidable._ _

__But that time wasn't now._ _

__One of Rahad's guards brought out a ridiculously old-fashioned bunch of keys and unlocked the cell door, pushing the iron bars aside with a loud grating squeal. Rahad stepped over the entrance, leaving the guards out in the hall._ _

__"Enjoying my hospitality, W3A7P?"_ _

__The smile on his face made Bodie's skin crawl._ _

__Unsure if his vocal cords still functioned, Bodie looked past him and up at the darkness shrouding the ceiling._ _

__"Nothing to say? Ah, well, there are ways around that."_ _

__Rahad drew the control sheet from his pocket, and moved closer, turning his body very deliberately to stand in profile. As he lowered the hand holding the control sheet down, Bodie's eyes unwillingly followed it. Rahad's clothing was as usual dark and conservative, not at all tight or revealing, but there was no mistaking the bulge at the front of his trousers._ _

__"Your kind deserve to feel the anger of true humans. To be taught what place hybrid filth truly has."_ _

__"Sod you," Bodie managed to choke out, torn between disgust and fury._ _

__"Oh no, that will be your role in the proceedings. Eventually." Rahad clapped his hands. "Bring him upstairs. Let us expose this abomination in cleansing air and light."_ _

__One of the guards touched something on the wall, and the dungeon vanished, replaced by featureless grey plastene walls and ceiling. VR, just as Bodie had suspected, except for the manacles around his feet, which remained, bolted to a ring in the floor._ _

__The same guard covered Bodie with his prism gun while the other unlocked the chain. For a moment Bodie considered a fight; the thought of what Rahad might do to him sexually frightened him almost enough to make him lose his hard-won self-control. But when the guard heaved him upright it was all he could do to stay on his feet. He swayed and stumbled, his centre of gravity thrown off by the unfamiliar weight of his cyborg components, unable to control them well enough to adjust his balance._ _

__Bodie clamped down on his rage and terror. Fight and loose, and it will be worse, he reminded himself._ _

__Worse than rape? another part of him gibbered frantically. Or whatever Rahad is going to do that he thinks is rape?_ _

___You can loose your legs._ _ _

___You can loose your mind._ _ _

__Survive now. Fight later._ _

__When the guard gestured with the gun, Bodie forced himself to move out of the room. Staggering along the corridors between the two guards, he watched Rahad move ahead of them, a fierce hate growing deep inside him._ _

__Survive now. Fight later._ _

__Eventually they brought him outside through a sliding glass door onto a paved terrace. It was dark, with only a faint glow on the horizon to mark the lights of some kind of civilization. Bodie took a deep breath and tasted warm humid air, real planet air, not recycled or conditioned in any way. When he looked up, he saw stars, a scatter of white fire across the black velvet of the night._ _

__How long since he'd last been outdoors? How long since that last flight, when the stars had surrounded him with a halo of photons?_ _

__He looked down at Rahad, who stood watching him with a mixture of undisguised anticipation and revulsion._ _

__Survive now._ _

__Rahad touched the control sheet, and Bodie felt a ripple of pain run along his spine and down both arms._ _

__Hell began again._ _

__He couldn't turn off the pain circuits, couldn't control the convulsions that shook him, in both flesh and artificial components, couldn't stop the incoherent screams from escaping. But he could keep his eyes on the stars._ _

__Whenever his jerking and flopping brought his face the right way up, he forced his eyes open to look up, at the deep blackness and tiny brilliant points of white._ _

__As long as he could remember the stars, he was still Bodie._ _

__And Bodie would find a way out._ _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_I'm a soldier of freedom_  
In the army of The Man  
We are the chosen  
We're the partisans  
The cause it is noble and the cause it is just  
We are ready to pay with our lives if we must 

 

The Murani Caliphate did a nice job of playing host to interstellar conferences, R4A5Y decided. Judging by the holos and blueprints, the station orbiting Murani was the height of luxury accommodation, equipped with all the latest in ANN technology and with the added extravagance of an army of human servants to see to every whim. 

Vetting that many people would be a nightmare, one R4A5Y was glad he had no responsibility for. He spared a thought for Cowley's irritation and couldn't hold back a grin. 

The level of security surrounding the whole planet was impressive, and R4A5Y wondered more than once as his ship was examined if Cowley wasn't giving Ramos too much credit. In theory any security system could be breached, given enough money and time—and an assassin prepared to die for the cause, something Ramos was manifestly not. Strictly a liquid-credit man, was Ramos. 

On the other hand, _someone_ had hired him. Someone who could be paying a hacker to breach Murani security at that very moment.

"We are in the docking queue for Murani Station," ANN reported. "Fifth in line. And there is an in-coming live transmission from Agent Murphy."

"Put him on." R4A5Y relaxed back into the pilot's chair. Murphy had been a friend once; unlike Cowley, his attitude had not changed with the addition of carbon fibre and ceramics. Murphy never looked at him as if he were an expensive but expendable tool.

"Hullo, Ray!" Murphy gestured vaguely behind him. "Welcome to the Caliphate's vision of Paradise."

In the background, R4A5Y could see marble floors, plush curtains and what looked like furnishings made of genuine wood. On low table in front of what appeared to be a leather divan sat a tea service that could only be antique silver from Earth.

"They use liquid-cred to flush the waste pipes?" he said, staggered at the level of luxury on display.

"Near as," Murphy agreed cheerfully. "They've stocked real bourbon from Earth for Dr. Harbinger."

"Cowley _will_ be pleased. Might off Harbinger himself." R4A5Y allowed himself a grin. "What's the latest news?"

"Rumour has it a check on an Awaräe freightliner on route from the Dumont system got a ping on Ramos. When the ship was searched, there was a human aboard who could have been Ramos's twin, but the DNA isn't a complete match. He's still being held, but right now there's no proof of anything except shocking bad taste in haircuts."

R4A5Y leaned forward. "I'll bet a hundred liquid we get at least three more of those in the next couple of days. False alarms, fake ID—all to take the edge off us."

"So we don't have anything to worry about, do we? That's why you're here. All reports say Ramos is bog-standard human. He couldn't match you without a half hour head start."

"Assuming we actually spot him. It's not Ramos who has me worried. Has Cowley got any background on who might have hired him? Or who the target is?"

"Not a sausage." Murphy shrugged. "You can pick your rumour: Albion is after Harbinger to sabotage the talks, the Awaräe are after Sheikh Achmeia as an apostate, the whole thing is an exercise in double-think to drive the economy down—or up, depending on which conspiracy theory you subscribe to."

ANN spoke up for the first time. "Analysis of available data, including economic considerations, indicate a revised probability of 45.7 percent that the target of subject Ramos is subject Harbinger. All other probabilities calculate at less than ten percent."

"What would be the point? If Ramos offs Harbinger, they'll just bring in a new negotiator. Nobody has anything to gain by letting this get out of hand."

"Not if some evidence just happens to surface that points to one side or the other having hired Ramos."

"Yes," R4A5Y said slowly, "that would put the cat amongst the pigeons quite nicely. Though if the target _is_ Harbinger, I'd say somewhere in the Rim systems is most likely as a buyer. Once Albion and Awaräe are at each others' throats, they can scoop up trade routes left and right." 

"Well, right now that's not our worry. All we have to do is keep the good doctor and the sheikh alive." Murphy grinned. "How soon are you docking?"

"At present we are third in the docking queue," ANN responded. "Estimated time to docking: 1800 seconds."

"Half an hour, give or take," R4A5Y translated. "I'll check in with Harbinger straight away. Meet you later?"

"Will do, mate." Murphy logged off.

R4A5Y sat staring at the empty holoframe, trying to make sense out of all the possibilities. 

"Ray, are you all right?" ANN asked.

He shook himself slightly, and stood up, stretching. "Something's rotten here, Ann. There's too much that doesn't make sense."

"Colloquialism: are we being played?"

"Oh, yeah, we're played. The question is: by who?"

"Have you considered aborting the mission?"

"Only if there's someplace in this galaxy Cowley can't find us." 

In preparation for docking, R4A5Y had already put on his gearsuit, attaching the jacks to his built-in systems. He sealed the tabs to bring the suit on-line and ran a quick systems check to make sure his optivisor was synched to the suit's data feed. As he descended the ladder to the hatch, he checked his electron prism gun, ensuring it was fully charged, and patted his knives into place.

"Ray, please make sure to return for nanite reconfiguration no later than 200,000 seconds from now."

"I'll come when I can."

"Optimum performance requires—"

"I said I'll come when I can," he cut her off. "Don't nag, luv. I'm on duty now."

"Yes, R4A5Y." There was a hollow tone to her voice that he chose not to hear.

B&DB&DB&D

Boarding Murani station was, R4A5Y noted with approval, difficult and time-consuming. Despite being registered as a CI5 ship, ANN7380973 was scanned several times by the station's security sensors before being allowed to approach the public docking bay. When he was finally given permission to leave the ship, R4A5Y found himself subjected to both sensor and physical searches in the bay itself. The guards were human and they made mistakes—there were a minimum of three different ways he could have incapacitated all of them and sabotaged the station before they could stop him—but against another human, they were probably more than adequate.

"Seen enough?" R4A5Y leered at the female guard who had unsnapped the fastenings of his gearsuit and gone over his artificial leg centimeter by centimeter.

"Concealing some very impressive hardware there," she replied, grinning at him as she pulled the suit back up, taking unnecessary time to smooth it across his thigh. "You must be hell on wheels at hand-to-hand." 

Her grin had turned openly flirtatious, and R4A5Y found himself responding automatically. 

"You interested in a work-up? Ahh, work out?' he amended quickly.

"Get your ANN to synch with my addy. I'll blip you when I'm free." She turned to the control console, all business again. 

"Cyborg R4A5Y, property of Cyborg Institute 5, cleared for entry. Built in weaponry is noted."

Property of Cyborg Institute 5.

R4A5Y's momentary interest in her shrivelled in a wave of shamed outrage. Property. Did she think she could rent him from Cowley for some sexual downtime?

"Here." A second guard pulled a biotag from the printer at the control console. "Left or right arm? Front or back?"

R4A5Y turned and presented his left arm. "On the shoulder, thanks."

The guard pulled the backing free and sealed the tag to the gearsuit. "Wear this at all times while aboard the station. We've fed your DNA to the station's ANN, so you're cleared for all areas. Docking bay 14-31 is reserved for CI5 use, and we'll transfer your ship there within the hour. Your biotag will activate the access hatch, and will also allow you service at any commissary and unrestricted use of the station's ANN. Have a pleasant stay."

R4A5Y nodded in thanks, fully aware that most of the guard's patter had been delivered without the man ever actually looking at him. The contrast between the respect accorded CI5 and the way many treated the actual cyborg operatives always made him seethe.

But that was the way of the galaxy.

Grimly he drove all distraction from his mind and headed down the access tunnel toward the station.

ANN had downloaded the station's layout and roster to his optivisor, and he paused at the final access door to pull up the schematics. He'd pre-programmed his tagging ap, and could see all the station decks in real-time, with the crew as violet dots, the security people in green, and a multi-coloured cluster in the main reception area that must be the various diplomats. A bright white dot representing Harbinger was at the centre of the group.

He noted a black dot approaching and turned just as Cowley stepped off the slideway that ran along the station's corridor.

"R4A5Y." Cowley nodded curtly. "You've made good time."

R4A5Y returned the nod, but said nothing. 

"Your opinion of the security measures in place?"

"They're good. Even I'd have to work to get a weapon in here undetected. Unless Ramos intends to get close enough to kill Harbinger with his bare hands, I'd say we're safe."

"Bah. Ramos is for hire. For him the whole point is getting away to spend his exorbitant fee. He won't be going out in a blaze of glory for the Sacred Cause."

"But you're still nervous." R4A5Y had automatically adjusted parameters to note Cowley's slightly elevated heart rate and muscle tension.

Cowley looked troubled. "Walk with me." He waited until R4A5Y joined him on the slideway before continuing. "A complication, though nothing to do with Ramos. I've just been informed that one of the ambassadors on the Awaräe delegation, a man named Rahad, belongs to one of the stranger offshoots of the Humanist Faction."

"A Humanist? Christ, just what we bloody need." R4A5Y glared at Cowley. "Did Sheikh Achmeia know about this?"

"No. Ambassador Rahad was a last minute addition to the delegation."

"You'll have to pull me out," R4A5Y said. "If the ambassador considers my kind constructs of the devil, he's hardly likely to pay attention to anything Harbinger has to say with me hovering at his back. Probably be too busy hunting up torches and pitchforks."

"Need I remind you of the probability calculation? As much as I respect Sheikh Achmeia's efforts here on the station, without a cyborg on the team whoever Ramos is after is as good as dead. Keep quiet, don't draw Ambassador Rahad's attention, and do not under any circumstances enter the Awaraë quarters without checking in first. There are rumours that Ambassador Rahad has some quite, shall we say, _peculiar_ tastes."

R4A5Y tensed. "One of those."

"Yes." There was no mistaking Cowley's look of genuine distaste. "You'll take care of yourself, understand me? Replacements are expensive." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Come along, then. I want to get you in place with Harbinger as soon as possible."

"Ambassador Rahad is here already?"

Cowley nodded. "The delegates are having an informal gathering before dinner. Preliminary work will start this evening."

"Well, let's get it over with." R4A5Y smirked slightly. "I'll reserve the right to shoot the ambassador if he gets too unpleasant."

Cowley glared at him and stepped off the slideway, heading for one of the flowing ladders to take them to the next level of the station. R4A5Y loped after him, adjusting his pace so he remained just a step behind.

Despite its luxuriousness, Murani Station was not large, and it took only a few minutes and another slideway change to bring them to the reception salon.

As they approached the gathered diplomats, R4A5Y thought that Dr. Ernest Harbinger was the type of United Earth human he found most irritating: simultaneously bland and brash, always smiling and eager to offer an opinion which amounted to very little when given more than a few seconds' thought. It probably made him an excellent negotiator—R4A5Y suspected most people might agree with him eventually if only to shut him up—but not to everyone's taste as a lunch companion. 

In addition to Harbinger, the group included their host Sheikh Achmeia, two women who R4A5Y recognized from the data feed as the chief Albion diplomats, and half a dozen men in formal wear. At the periphery of the room stood a group of bodyguards, station personnel mingling uneasily with private guards from both factions.

"Which one is Rahad?" R4A5Y examined the assembled group.

"The one with the beard, standing to Ambassador Zhang's left."

R4A5Y zoomed his sensors in on the man. Rahad's formal wear was severely cut and somewhat more traditional than that worn by the others in the room. His body language as he chatted with Ambassador Zhang came across as urbane and charming. The kind of people who might not warm to Harbinger would almost certainly like Rahad. 

And Rahad would not like R4A5Y in the least.

With Cowley there, he wasn't really concerned about the man's opinions, but still he ran a systems check. 

All weapons at optimal efficiency.

"You're prepared?" Cowley asked.

"Yes, sir," R4A5Y said. "All set for my grand entrance."

"Come along then." Cowley led him to the diplomatic group. "Dr. Harbinger, may I introduce Cyborg R4A5Y? He'll be your bodyguard while you're aboard Murani Station."

"Pleased to meet you, young man." Harbinger extended one hand toward R4A5Y. "Um, it is young man?"

"I answer to 'he', sir." R4A5Y shook hands, careful not to allow his combat suit to exert undue pressure.

"Good, good." Harbinger gestured around. "Our gracious host, Sheikh Achmeia, of course, Delegate Tanaka and Ambassador Zhang, representatives of the Albion Empire, and Representative Dignity Tennar and Ambassador Rahad of Awaräe."

"Your Excellencies." R4A5Y gave a brief bow he hoped would cover all the required formalities. He understood why Cowley was putting him on display, but being trotted out as CI5's sentient weapon always made him uncomfortable.

The Sheikh inclined his head, and Delegate Tanaka bowed in return. Ambassador Zhang and Dignity Tennar smiled stiffly, and several of the minor functionaries were less able to hide their discomfort. Rahad moved back a step, his face freezing.

"Now that your personal protection is here, Dr. Harbinger, I'll excuse myself to see about some of the other security arrangements. Your Excellencies." Cowely bowed—no lower than he had, R4A5Y noted— and moved away, already pulling his personal data visor from his pocket.

"One moment, Major Cowley." Rahad spoke up. 

"Yes, Ambassador?" Cowley turned.

"On whose authority did you bring this . . . creature aboard the station?" Rahad's voice was expressionless, but R4A5Y could see the effort it took him.

"The United Earth diplomatic corps requested additional security for Dr. Harbinger. Purely a precautionary measure."

"With all due respect to Dr. Harbinger, I must request that you remove it. If there are security issues, I am certain that Sheikh Achmeia's people are more than capable of dealing with them."

Sheikh Achmeia was already shaking his head. "I apologise most deeply, Ambassador Rahad. But the honour of Murani demands that this conference proceed with the greatest regard for the safety of our guests. Major Cowley has given me his personal assurances that this cyborg will be the most effective means of doing so."

"To create a living machine is an abomination against both the Divine and humanity. To allow it to walk among true human beings is an insult." Rahad's voice remained calm, but the expression in his eyes as he glowered at R4A5Y made the cyborg extremely glad he was armed, and Rahad was not.

"Surely the word insult is a strong one, Mr. Ambassador, especially directed against someone so highly regarded in the Murani Caliphate," Delegate Tanaka said. "We _are_ guests of the Caliphate after all." 

R4A5Y bit back a grin. Delegate Tanaka was a small woman with a delicate voice, and she had just put Rahad in his place more effectively than a thug waving a hand-blaster.

Rahad flushed and glanced from Cowley to the sheikh, mouth tightening with anger. "I beg your pardon, Sheikh Achmeia. I am . . . distressed at this development. I regret any offensive terms, but my beliefs are deeply important to me."

Sheikh Achmeia gestured broadly. "It is already forgotten, Ambassador. However, my obligations as host forbid me from knowingly placing the life of our esteemed negotiator at risk." 

"I'm sure, Mr. Ambassador, that if you make your objections clear to your government, they will be willing to send a replacement for you," Harbinger said in a calm bland voice.

Ambassador Rahad's shoulders went rigid, and R4A5Y took a small but quite noticeable step closer to Harbinger.

For a moment, the ambassador glared at them both, and then visibly brought himself under control. 

"My people have given me a duty. I intend to fulfill my obligations, even under provocation. I must request, Dr. Harbinger, that you keep that thing as far away from me as is practical."

"Of course, Your Excellency."

Rahad forced a smile. "With your kind permission, ladies, I will withdraw until after dinner. I feel the need to compose myself. "

He bowed to the other delegates and made for the door, two of the bodyguards falling in behind him. The scowls both of them directed at R4A5Y were only slightly less poisonous than Rahad's.

In the strained silence that followed Rahad's departure, the two Albion diplomats glanced at each other, and R4A5Y caught just a hint of a smile directed his way.

"I do hope this will not be an issue for you as well, Dignitary Tennar." Ambassador Zhang smiled sunnily at the senior Awaräe delegate.

"Ambassador Rahad speaks only for himself," Dignitary Tennar replied. "However we hope his beliefs will be respected."

"Of course, Minister," Sheikh Achmeia said. "We will make all reasonable accommodation for the ambassador."

As Achmeia and Tennar moved away, Ambassador Zhang lifted her glass slightly in Cowley's direction. "Round one to us, I believe. Thank you, Mr. Cowley."

"Oh, don't thank me, Madame Ambassador. Tweaking Ambassador Rahad's nose over so minor a point may cost you in the long run. And giving Awaräe the impression that CI5 is at the service of the Albion Empire will do no one any good."

"My apologies, um, R—R-four, is it?" Harbinger said. 

"R4A5Y, sir. No need to apologize. It's not the worst I've heard, by a long shot."

"Even so, if Ambassador Rahad causes you trouble, be sure to let me know."

"No, Dr. Harbinger," Cowley broke in. "R4A5Y can take care of himself. It's his job to protect you, not the other way around."

Harbinger shot Cowley a challenging look, but then smiled bleakly and nodded. 

There's some backbone under that bluff, R4A5Y thought. And I'm not the only one who noticed he didn't actually agree with Cowley.

"With your permission." Cowley bowed abruptly and limped out of the room, ignoring the waitstaff circulating with trays of drinks and appetizers.

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Harbinger asked, turning to R4A5Y once more.

"I'll scout the dining room beforehand and find an optimum position while you're eating."

Harbinger paused. "You misunderstood me, I'm afraid. Do you need to eat? Should I arrange for mealtimes for you? And what about sleeping quarters?"

R4A5Y felt a momentary rush of surprised gratitude, followed by a stab of anger at himself. He didn't need Harbinger's _noblesse oblige_ or condescension. 

"I can eat, thanks," he said shortly. "Agent Murphy will arrange meals for me and the other security personnel. Depending on how long the conference lasts, I'll need to return to my ship periodically to have my nanites reconfigured. If I get that done regularly, I won't need to sleep."

Harbinger blinked. "At all?"

R4A5Y allowed himself a slight smile. "One advantage of being 'borged: I'll never nod off on duty."

"I see." The expression that crossed Harbinger's face looked like an odd combination of guilt and relief. "Well, be sure to speak up if you need anything. Don't wait for Major Cowley's permission."

"Thank you, sir." It was stupid to be touched by Harbinger's unexpected decency; he couldn't allow the feeling to distract him.

Sheikh Achmeia stepped forward and raised his voice. "Honoured guests, dinner is now being served in the dining room." He bowed and extended an arm to Ambassador Zhang. "Ambassador Zhang, if you would do me the honour?" 

"My pleasure, Sheikh Achmeia."

"Delegate Tanaka?" Harbinger bowed as well, and followed, Delegate Tanaka smiling up at him.

R4A5Y took up position behind Harbinger, noting the way the other diplomatic staff sorted themselves uneasily into Albion and Awaräe factions. 

These negotiations were going to be a hard sell, he mused. Harbinger would be earning his keep to get any agreement out of this lot.

Cowley was waiting in the dining lounge, and R4A5Y noted he'd found time during his other duties to change into a formal kilt and jacket. 

R4A5Y dropped back slightly, and Cowley moved to join him.

"Well, what is it?"

"This may have been a mistake, sir."

"In what way, R4A5Y?"

"Rahad. This isn't some kind of political game he's playing at. I was monitoring him back there. He could barely look at me, and when he did? Heart rate, blood pressure, sweating, all went through the roof. He either hates me, or he's afraid of me. Either way, with me around, he's in no shape to concentrate on negotiation."

Cowley blew out an exasperated sigh. "Ambassador Rahad's conduct is for the Awaräe delegation to deal with. Keep your mind on Harbinger." 

B&DB&DB&DB&D

Dinner having been both sumptuous and interminable, R4A5Y was more than relieved when the diplomats finally rose and made their way to the conference room. He'd taken a position against the wall directly behind Harbinger during the meal, and stayed motionless, knowing only an occasional flicker in his optivisor would indicate he was still operational. Rahad had finally returned just as after-dinner coffee and tea were served, and taken a seat as far from R4A5Y as he could manage. Though on the surface he appeared to ignore R4A5Y completely, the 'borg could sense his heart rate jumping whenever he looked in Harbinger's direction. R4A5Y had to reluctantly admire Rahad's self-control; not many humans could have carried on complex and sophisticated discussion with several people at once while inwardly so agitated.

After the last cup of coffee was drained, R4A5Y escorted Harbinger to the conference room door, received a nod and smile in thanks, and then took up a position next to the observation window in the corridor with some relief. He had no objection to being out of sight and out of mind. Shifting into full sensor mode, he leaned back against the wall and prepared for a long, and hopefully boring, evening.

Keeping most of his attention on the conference room, he ran another scan of the station. Violet and green dots all at their proper stations, or off-watch in crew quarters. Cowley's black, Harbinger's white and Rahad's red (he'd had no trouble making _that_ colour selection) all in the conference room with the rest of the diplomats. Murphy, whom he'd tagged with a dark amber, on patrol through the station's outer corridors.

And—

R4A5Y froze.

His sensors read a faint nanite trace coming from somewhere in the depths of the station.

Carefully he recalibrated his sensors to a more sensitive level and repeated the scan.

The ping came back again from the same area. Nanites, more than would have been left by a 'borg just passing through or in storage.

Without even being conscious of it, R4A5Y took weapons systems off standby and engaged his suit's combat mode.

There was another functioning cyborg on Murani Station.

He took a third scan, this time sweeping not only the station but the ships docked around it. Negative for unauthorized weapons, negative for unauthorized personnel, except for that one trace of nanites. This time, it actually dawned on R4A5Y where that nanite trace originated, and his alert level shot up again.

He shielded his comm and blipped Murphy's private addy. In a moment Murphy's holo appeared in a corner of his optivisor. The background showed one of the corridors near the landing bays, and Murphy, prism gun in hand.

Without pausing to think, R4A5Y blurted out, "Is Cowley trying to double-think me?" 

For a moment, Murphy looked flummoxed. "No more than usual," he said, face twisting with confusion. "What's up?"

"There's another cyborg on board the station."

Murphy frowned. "Here? On the station? Can't be. You're the only one Cowley pulled in for this op."

"And I suppose you'd know?" R4A5Y said acerbically.

"Fair point." Murphy shrugged. "As far as I know, you're the only one. I can't see any reason to keep us both in the dark if you're not. You're sure?"

"I ran a scan as soon as I was cleared to board, to get a baseline on the station functions. Ran another just now after they went into the conference room. I definitely picked up nanite trace the second time—faint but you can't miss it if you know what to look for. If it's not us, then somebody else brought a 'borg on board."

"Ramos?" Murphy looked alarmed.

"Thought you said he was human."

"That's what all the intelligence says. But could he have had himself 'borged specially for this job?"

R4A5Y couldn't suppress a flare along his neural net. "If this killing is so important, then we're in trouble. Getting a voluntary 'borg job—no going back on that."

Murphy scratched his head. "Even if it's not as radical as yours?"

"Once a machine, always a machine," R4A5Y quoted bitterly. 

"Doyle—"

"No!" R4A5Y cut him off sharply. "No offense, mate, but . . . don't."

"Sorry. " Murphy gave an apologetic shrug. "So, where is this stray 'borg of yours? Want me to check it out?"

"That's the part that makes no damn sense. He's in the quarters assigned to the Awaräe delegation."

Murphy whistled softly. "So either Rahad is one damn good liar—"

"Or someone in the delegation smuggled a 'borg in without him knowing. Either way, we've got a problem."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_I'm a soldier of fortune_  
I'm a dog of war  
And I don't give a damn  
Who the killing is for  
It's the same old story with a different name  
Death or glory, it's a killing game 

 

The gravity had changed.

From the time he'd signed on a tramp freighter as a youngster without papers, Bodie had taken to space travel as if born in the depths between the stars. He was accustomed to adapting to differences in gravity, air quality and a dozen other factors that changed even between those planets classed as habitable for humans. Some people never could manage it; they fell planet-sick any time they left their home world. Bodie's body adjusted so instinctively he often barely noticed. 

And now those instincts told him he'd been moved. 

Bodie never knew where Rahad had held him. The cell was a featureless grey box, and everything else he'd experienced, except Rahad's attentions, had been some kind of VR. It could have been any planet in Awaräe space, but there was no way to tell. In the one brief visit outdoors that Rahad indulged in, Bodie had seen no recognizable stars or any other indication of where he was.

Still, he knew he was no longer there. Even chained in another featureless grey box, with no idea how long he'd been unconscious ## _on standby_ ##, he could tell. The air had a very faint chemical taste to it that spoke of endless recycling. And the gravity was different. 

He hurt.

Even his mechanical parts held a faint shivering throb, a memory of current overload through neural wiring, and brutal pressure almost too much even for carbon fibre to stand up under. Rahad had kept Bodie's torso open, leaving the wiring and artificial components exposed, and took a particular enjoyment in fingering and exploring the mechanisms. Sometimes the things he did with his bare hands caused more pain than the functions on the control sheet.

Worse, using his hands on Bodie excited Rahad, aroused him to some kind of sexual peak that always had one result.

His arse ached and burned, and much as Bodie wanted to forget what Rahad had done to cause that pain, he knew he wouldn't. 

Someday, somehow, he was going to pay every single pain—both real and illusion—back in full.

Swearing softly, he shifted minutely, trying to find a more comfortable position. His carbon fibre and ceramic upper portion didn't seem much the worse for wear, but every movement made something lower inside twinge sharply. He choked out a bitter laugh. It would be ironic if in his arousal Rahad forgot the fleshware portion of the body was still vulnerable, and let him bleed to death.

In an effort to distract himself from the pain, he turned his attention to the cell. There had to be some way to find out where he was, some flaw in the system that he could use to escape.

If only he had better control of his body. Spending so long either in stand-by mode or being damaged had left him little time to get accustomed to his new systems, let alone practice using them. Despite the urge to just drift away from the relentless discomfort, Bodie forced himself not to waste the minutes he'd gained now.

He was awake and aware, and even a limited range of movement was something to work with. 

Start with the basics. The gravity was different. Was it enough to give him any advantage?

##.974 standard gravity.##

The knowledge was suddenly there, an understanding as simple and effortless as recognizing that two plus two made four.

"What?" Bodie jerked in surprise, then swore violently at the pain knifing through his lower body. "Where did that come from?"

The number wasn't just some guess; it settled firmly in the forefront of his mind as if printed on a viewscreen, and somehow he knew it was accurate.

The restraints only allowed him to move his arms a few centimeters, not enough for him to reach his head. It didn't feel as if he were wearing a data-visor. He managed to tilt one shoulder slightly, brushing clumsily at his face. No, no data-visor on him. So where was that information coming from?

##Basic environmental data system.##

"Environmental data system? Mine?"

##Built-in operating system W3A7P.##

"Run diagnostic," he whispered, keeping his voice a bare thread of sound.

Instantly, data began pouring into his mind. It felt like being plugged into the navigation centre of a ship, only so much more, so much faster he couldn't begin to make sense of it. In milliseconds he was dizzy, reeling, feeling his brain scramble under the overload.

"Stop!" he gasped out.

Everything froze. 

Bodie lay panting, waiting for the nausea to subside. The whirl of information in his head settled like snowflakes dropping out of a blizzard, drifting down in layers through his consciousness. He made no attempt to access any of it, just grateful that he hadn't fried his human brain.

Despite the disorientation, he felt a fierce sense of triumph. His systems were functional. All he had to do was get control.

Being a space fighter pilot had trained Bodie in dealing with multiple 3D data-streams in real-time. The skills needed to interface with his cyborg systems weren't really that much different. At the moment it was sluggish and clumsy and frustrating but Bodie could already sense that with practice the information overwhelming him would flow without him having to make a conscious effort to access it. 

And knowledge was power. 

_You're a weapon. Start thinking like one._

When he felt steadier, he steeled himself for another attempt. "Right then, let's try again. Run diagnostic, _slowly_. One system at a time."

His cyborg functions took him literally. One by one, data bits swirled up out of the information drift. 

##Integration level 17.44 percent and rising.##

##Gravity .974 standard.##

"Wait, how do you know?"

##Built-in gravitation monitor located _here_.## A very simplified schematic of his torso appeared, with a small blinking light in the lower left quadrant.

##Atmosphere, 100% human standard normal.## A neat read-out of chemical compounds scrolled up through his consciousness: oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, with the addition of miniscule proportions of other gasses, aerosol disinfectants, cybernetic and mechanical lubricants, and human waste products.

Breathable air and plenty of it.

"Where am I?"

No data appeared. Either his systems weren't equipped to find out, or the data hadn't made its way to him yet.

Cautiously, Bodie opened his eyes and tried something harder. In addition to the gravity monitor and air analyzer, Bodie found something that functioned like a gyroscope, and maybe sonar as well.

"Analyze immediate area."

Slowly a picture of his surroundings developed, giving him fuzzy images of the rooms in the immediate area. Metal and ceramic, a lot of both, nanowires in regular patterns that had to be conduits, a constant faint grumbling noise that seemed to come from a direction the gyroscope could only identify as "inward". His eyes were unaugmented, but there must have been enough damage to his ears to warrant audio upgrades. If he concentrated, he could hear the steady movement of air through the ventilation system, the faint hiss of a corridor slideway, and an occasional soft liquid squelch that had to be some other aspect of the life support system. By the slight echoing, he could tell that beyond his cell lay a corridor, with sparsely furnished rooms on either side of him. Put together with the slightly lowered gravity and the atmospheric composition, the data suggested a space station, but that was as far as it went. If there was any way to identify the station or pinpoint its location, he couldn't find it yet.

Too fucking slow, he thought, fighting for patience. If I can't get a bloody move on, Rahad will be back for more fun and games.

Bodie shuddered.

The one thing he apparently didn't have was a built-in communications system. That wasn't a surprise: Rahad was smart enough to make sure he was cut off from any help beyond physical shouting distance. Not that he would have trusted a com system he hadn't thoroughly debugged first. Anything he hadn't encrypted himself left him vulnerable to being phished. 

A soft murmuring caught his attention, soft enough to be barely audible. Voices, he decided, just out of earshot. 

_Right, let's see if we can do better than this._

With an almost physical swooping sensation, his hearing sharpened and focused. 

##Integration level 41.66 percent and rising.##

The rooms around him were still empty, but out in the corridor he could detect two people breathing a moment before one of them spoke. Bodie recognized the voice as one of the guards who constantly shadowed Rahad.

"Your Excellency, I beg you to reconsider. Having this thing here is dangerous. Should Sheikh Achmeia's security people discover it, the Sheikh himself will have no option but to intervene. With so many representatives of other powers aboard the station he cannot ignore an illegal cyborg."

"We got it past the security checkpoints with no difficulty." That was Rahad, sounding confident and slightly bored, as if this argument had gone on for some time. "As long as it is on stand-by and properly shielded, it will not register on the scanning equipment."

"If I may say so, Your Excellency, you did not bring it here to leave it on stand-by." A long moment of silence followed, that Bodie had no difficulty in interpreting. Rahad's bodyguard was being given a nasty stare intended to silence him. 

It did not work. "Your Excellency, by making your distaste for cyborgs so public, you have given your opponents a weapon. If it is discovered now—"

"Enough!" Rahad snapped. "Achmeia's insistence on bringing CI5 here will work in my favour. I have requested, in consideration of my beliefs, to have my quarters shielded for privacy from the cyborg guarding Harbinger. Sheikh Achmeia was most accommodating. That should be sufficient to keep prying eyes off my affairs."

"And if the rumours of an assassination attempt are true?"

"That is what you are here for. Or are you suggesting that you are not capable of doing your duty?"

"No, Your Excellency. We are sworn to die to protect you."

Rahad made no reply, and after a few seconds Bodie heard the sound of steps, growing fainter as they moved away.

In the silence, Bodie tried to piece together the information he'd gleaned. He recognized one name: Sheikh Achmeia was a member of the ruling council of the Murani Caliphate. Coupled with the talk of other representatives, it sounded as if Rahad had dropped him right in the middle of some Caliphate diplomatic manoeuvre. And that meant he probably was on Murani Station itself. He had no idea who "Harbinger" was, but the mention of CI5 made his blood run cold. No matter what Rahad thought he'd arranged, if CI5 had agents on Murani Station then sooner or later Bodie would be discovered. 

And killed.

They could call it deactivation of an illegal cyborg if they wanted to; as far as Bodie was concerned, it would be his murder, pure and simple.

For the first time since recovering consciousness, Bodie felt close to despair. Getting off a space station undetected would be close to impossible. Escape would be a lot easier planetside, where he'd have more room to run, and access to more resources. The smart thing to do would be to take time to build up his strength, gain more control over his systems, and wait until Rahad moved him again. But with CI5 on board the station, he couldn't afford to wait.

If he could be sure Rahad wouldn't tire of the game and just deactivate him. If CI5 weren't aboard the station.

Life in a word, he thought bitterly. If.

Ready or not, he had to get out now. And with Rahad temporarily occupied, there was no time to waste. Gritting his teeth, Bodie set to work.

It took longer than he'd expected to get himself loose. 

Even with the regular torture sessions weakening him, he'd assumed his training and experience would give him the edge over a gang of bully-boys who were essentially bureaucrats with weapons. The additional strength in his cyborg components should have made the job even easier. 

Instead, he found himself infuriatingly feeble. Dying will do that to you, he kept reminding himself. Dying, and being 'borged, and bloody damn Rahad coming at him over and over—

Until he made the effort to use them, he hadn't realised how much stress the constant mistreatment put on the connections between fleshware and artificial components. Despite his improving control of his neural net, trying to get himself moving felt like slogging through knee-deep mud blindfolded.

Hurting, exhausted physically and mentally, and holding onto control with little more than willpower, Bodie examined the restraints holding him down. At least Rahad's fetish for antiques might make the job a bit easier. A modern electronic lock with a progressive algorithm in the password combination would have baffled his fumbling efforts to interface. The steel manacles around his arms and legs would bend.

Eventually.

His right arm first, he decided. Unless he could use his fingers, nothing else would work.

Closing his eyes, Bodie blanked his mind, stamped down all his fears and doubts and concentrated on the neural connections to his right arm. 

Flex the biceps. 

Bend the elbow. 

Pull upward. 

Repeat.

Again.

He pictured Rahad's face in his mind, the smugly lascivious look on his face, the way his mouth slackened as he played with Bodie's control icons. Imagined the full weight of his arm, powered by all his rage and fear and augmented servo-mechs, smashing into that leering face, turning it into bloody pulp.

Flex. Bend. Pull. Repeat.

Bodie was so deeply immersed in that fantasy of revenge he almost missed the first sign of success. Distantly, he heard something creak, then a metallic grinding noise. The fear shot through him that it might be his arm giving out, and he dismissed it. Better to break himself to pieces trying to escape than wait to die strapped down like a sacrificial lamb.

Pull, damn you, he snarled at himself.

The next pull lifted his arm off the table entirely with another harsh squeal of tearing metal. 

His eyes snapped open. The cuff hadn't yielded, but a section of the table itself had ripped loose. Energized, Bodie braced his arm and lurched his entire body as much as he could to the left. There was a loud snap, and his right arm flew free, trailing a ragged slice of metal table with it.

"Yeah!" Bodie pounded his freed hand against the table. "Got it, you bastard."

He turned his attention to the left arm. The manacle there was fastened just above the stump ending, held in place by the implant plate. For a second he considered ripping the plate off and sliding his arm out, but something froze him in place. Data appeared, showing how useful the plate could be if he found a compatible weapon.

"You got a better idea?" He sent a desperate thought in the general direction of his cybernetic system.

A long slender probe slid from the end of his right forefinger.

"Lockpick?" he queried.

In response, he received an image of a touchpad exploding.

"Erm, there's still some useful arm in there, y'know."

The image changed to a touchpad wilting and curling up at the edges.

Bodie grinned. "Better. Be my guest." Not entirely sure what he was doing, he ran the probe over the manacle on his arm, searching for some kind of release mechanism. Nothing happened. 

"Well, that's—" He broke off as an instant of blinding pain circled his arm. The cuff shattered, fragments tinkling to the floor beside him.

"Christ!" Bodie cradled the stump in the palm of his other hand, teeth clenched against the pain. "Thanks, I think."

One down, two to go.

By the time both of the leg shackles lay in pieces, Bodie was sweating and queasy with pain. Still, free and hurting was an improvement on chained and uncomfortable any day.

##Integration level 57.99 percent and rising.##

His knees nearly buckled when he tried to stand up, and his first steps were halting. He still had to consciously compensate for the missing left arm, but with every step the interface with his new components improved exponentially. A few minutes of walking up and down made him more confident he wouldn't fall on his face. 

He refused to think about the pitfalls still ahead, and how poorly equipped he might be to face them. One step at a time, and if that was damn close to literal, so be it.

Approaching the door, he cocked his head and sharpened his hearing again, searching for any sign the guard had returned. With only the ambient sounds of the station around him, Bodie decided to take a gamble. He placed his palm flat on the door, sending his system a command that amounted to little more than, "Get me out!"

The door didn't move.

A swirl of data whipped past, slowing to a crawl at Bodie's grimace of frustration. Left in the forefront was a neatly coloured double helix.

A DNA lock. His shoulders slumped, Bodie glared at the door in frustration and despair.

Should have expected it, he thought. 

Rahad had demanded a high level of security and privacy, and on a station like this the ANN was sophisticated enough to provide it. This door at least was DNA-keyed, and it was perfectly possible that _no_ door would open except to DNA from specifically vetted humans. With so many strangers on the station, it was what Bodie would have done if in charge of security.

He was trapped.

Bodie leaned against the wall by the door, fighting hopelessness. His cybernetics _might_ be strong enough to physically force the door open—he'd torn a strip off a metal table, after all—but that kind of destruction would instantly alert the ship's ANN. No matter how much Rahad might protest, station security couldn't ignore actual structural damage. If there were any chance the security forces might rescue him instead of handing him over to CI5, he 'd have risked it. Trading his own death for Rahad's disgrace might be the best he could do, but only if all else failed.

Bugger the DNA—

More data, and while he couldn't interpret a lot of it, the meaning was clear.

Judging by the way his arse felt, there was plenty of Rahad's DNA still inside him, and if he was reading time stream data correctly, some of it should still be viable. Just maybe enough to persuade that lock to open.

Bodie couldn't hold back an appalled laugh, torn between humiliation, rage and a dark and bitter humour. It was stupid that he should be ashamed his 'borg components were so very aware he'd been raped—Rahad had done the equivalent to them, and while his cybernetic bits might not be alive or sentient in any real sense, they were part of him, and integrating more with every passing minute. Even so, a wave of shame wracked him. 

Something drifted out of the data stream that Bodie could only interpret as a firm shove. 

He gulped and dragged in a ragged breath. "Get a move on, you say?"

This time the data was more emphatic: a second's vivid holo of the door sliding open and Bodie punching his 'borged arm directly through Rahad's heart.

##Integration level 64.82 percent and rising.##

_Serve you right, you sick bastard. Hoist on your own damn petard._

Bodie raised his hand in front of his face, turning it back and forth. He still had so little fine control: could he do what needed to be done without injuring himself even more?

Only one way to find out. Bodie braced himself and reached down.

The first smear of slimy fluid across the lock produced no result. Hand shaking, he wiped the door clean with a scrap of cloth from a drawer, and tried again. 

Bodie cursed his new-found ability to measure time to milliseconds as he waited. He'd nearly given up by the time the door slowly slid open.

Bodie had to hold back a yell of triumph. He peered cautiously around the doorframe, calling on his augmented hearing again. Still no one in the vicinity.

Now the only choice was left or right. If Murani Station was built like most space stations, it would be in the shape of a ring, with the gravity generators set so that the centre of the ring was "down". Docking bays would be along the outer part of the ring, so ships would be up-grav of the station's pull.

"Up-grav?" he queried, and following the data, turned left. 

Creeping along the corridor, Bodie felt very conscious of how exposed his position truly was. No humans might be in the area right now, but the automated security systems had to be registering his presence. The only thing that might buy him some time would be if Rahad's demands for privacy shielding interfered with their nanite tracing capability. Having another 'borg on the station might contribute to some confusion, but he couldn't count on that. 

He moved as quickly as he dared, expecting at every moment to hear an alarm, or to have his control systems overridden and immobilized by the station's ANN. But everything stayed quiet, and for all the reaction he got, Bodie might as well have been invisible.

He'd kicked his hearing up as high as he dared, straining his control, alert to any sound of pursuit, but it was his unaugmented sense of smell that saved him. A scent of spices drifted from the corridor ahead of him, cardamom and turmeric and ginger, mingled with some kind of aromatic wood and sweat and weapons lubricant.

His luck had run out.

Once more he was acutely conscious of tiny increments of time as the smells got stronger. He fumbled up his sonar and scanned the space around him, looking for a hiding place. On either side of the corridor were empty rooms, but any of them could be the destination of the person approaching. The area was well-lit, with smooth curving walls. There was no dark corner to hide a mouse in, let alone a nearly two metre tall cyborg. 

With a growl he turned his scanners back the way he'd just come. He'd focused so much on getting away from Rahad that he hadn't taken the time to scout out hiding places, his only concern putting as much distance as possible between himself and his tormentors. That oversight might well end him now.

The scent grew stronger, and Bodie moved back, struggling with the sensors to see if he could raise some station schematics. A few meters ahead of him, his spatial awareness picked up a tall narrow space behind an access panel. Ventilation duct or waste disposal unit, it didn't matter as long as he could get inside.

Luckily, the station didn't use DNA locks on its service doors. The panel slid open under his groping fingers. The space behind it was slightly smaller than he'd hoped and he backed inside, squeezing both arms tightly to his chest, wincing as metal and flesh were crushed together. With one finger he tugged the panel closed, and squirmed back, trying to adjust to the narrow space.

He could hear steps approaching now, and with a sharp jolt of panic, Bodie saw the top quarter of the panel clear, leaving a translucent viewing pane. 

There was no room to crouch down, no space to pull further back, no time to open the panel and run for it. His only hope was that whoever it was would pass by without noticing there was anything to see behind the wall.

As the person came into view, Bodie's first surprise was that whoever he was, he was obviously no more eager to be found than Bodie. He wore a black gearsuit, complete with optivisor, and carried a modified prism pistol in one hand. Resting in the middle of his chest was a large medallion on a chain. As he came into view, the datastream that had been Bodie's constant companion suddenly dissolved into a fuzzy wave of static and winked out.

Bodie's eyebrows rose. A personal security scrambler cost a fortune, and was highly illegal in dozens of planetary systems. He could think of no reason for anyone aboard Murani Station to have one that didn't involve some type of criminal activity.

Then Bodie took another look at the man wearing the scrambler, and got his second surprise.

Ramos?

His mind went back to a long-ago night in a portside bar, when he'd just joined his first merc crew. One of the other pilots had pointed out a man at a corner table.

_That's Ramos. The assassin. He comes here sometimes. He's invisible. Don't ever let on you can see him, Billy. He kills people because he likes to._

What the fuck was a professional assassin like Ramos doing on the station? 

Bodie almost snorted at his own question.

Right now, there were probably dozens of targets, starting with Sheikh Achmeia and going on from there. The presence of Awaräe delegates made it likely the purpose of the conference was to hammer out a peace treaty between Awaräe and the Albion Empire. The list of the factions that would want such a treaty stopped could fill a data-burst. 

Better to ask: why _wouldn't_ someone hire Ramos?

The assassin moved slowly but with an assurance bordering on arrogance, obviously supremely confident in his scrambler's ability to thwart Murani Station's security. Only the constant flickering of his optivisor as he scanned the corridor gave any indication he was on alert. 

Bodie shrank back further as Ramos looked straight at the panel. With only one arm and no weapons, Bodie had no illusions about how well he'd come off in a struggle with the assassin.

However, for all the attention Ramos paid to the panel it might as well have been part of the corridor wall. Never breaking stride or pausing in his restless scanning, he passed Bodie and vanished from sight.

As Ramos disappeared from view, Bodie's datastream flickered and booted up, slowly coming back on line. It was only then that Bodie realized how quickly he'd become accustomed to that unobtrusive information flow. Having it feeding back to him felt like regaining the use of his missing arm.

He slumped against the wall of his hiding place, wondering what to do.

Ramos was no concern of his; in fact, if Rahad was his target, Bodie would cheer him on with enthusiasm. Except that the higher levels of security made his chances of escape slimmer, Bodie didn't give a tinker's damn what happened on board the station.

Just his luck to be hijacked into the middle of an assassination plot.

On the other hand, Ramos might provide the distraction he needed. An assassination attempt was bound to cause some degree of chaos, especially if the station's ANN recognized that a security scrambler was in use. If personnel couldn't trust the ANN's remote sensors, there was the possibility of enough confusion to let him slip off the grid before anyone realized he was there.

Escape had to be his first priority. If there was a chance later to send a warning, he'd consider it, but only once he was well and truly away.

Bodie pried the panel open and ventured back into the corridor. Despite the danger of perhaps encountering Ramos, he had no choice. Though he couldn't sense that any alarm had been raised yet, any hesitation might leave him in the grasp of Rahad's guards again.

He made it as far as the first cross-corridor. As he stepped into the intersection, before he had a chance to query the system which direction would be best, his system whited out and everything went blank.

Bodie became vaguely aware that he was being dragged by the legs, the rest of his body sliding along helplessly, his cheek occasionally thumping against the solidity of his arm.

"Thing weighs a ton," someone panted from above him. "Ambassador should have to carry it back himself."

"Mind your tongue, unless you want to lose it," a second voice growled. "His Excellency won't tolerate disrespect."

"A man who plays with abomination—" 

There was a choking wheeze from above him, and Bodie's legs thumped to the floor.

"My mistake," the second speaker said harshly. "You are closer to losing your life."

Bodie forced his eyes open. One of Rahad's guards was being held in a brutal arm-lock by a second, his eyes bulging with pain as he contorted his body backward to avoid having his neck broken.

##Move!## 

Bodie lurched upright. As both guards turned to gape at him in shock, Bodie flexed his arms, putting every ounce of fury and frustration he felt into the movement. The already injured guard tumbled over his own feet as Bodie lashed out with his right arm, sweeping the piece of metal still attached to it around and catching the standing guard across the throat. The man collapsed in a spray of blood—human, Bodie thought with savage satisfaction, he's done for—and Bodie followed through on the swing, smashing his fist down against the side of the other guard's head.

He took three shambling steps backward.

White-out again.

The next time he woke, he still carried a feeling of satisfaction that slowly drained away as he realized his position.

Back in chains, back in the fucking dungeon. He slitted his eyes open and saw he was splayed out on the floor, the clamps that held him now fastened directly into the fabric of the station itself.

At least this time they hadn't put him through a nightmare session first. Bodie shivered, grateful for small mercies, and angry at the feeling of gratitude. Breaking humans using their own minds was so bloody easy.

The quiet hum of his systems feeding him data came as a relief. However they'd knocked him out, it hadn't affected his connection this time. In fact, it seemed as if his 'borg bits had used the period of quiescence to integrate themselves more completely with the fleshware. 

##Integration level steady at 77.34 percent,## the system said with approval. 

Before Bodie could query how long optimum might take, Rahad loomed over him. The expression outrage and scorn on his face was almost comical.

"You dare defy me?" he snarled, and lashed out, his foot connecting viciously with Bodie's knee. The jolt of pain was agonizing but Bodie forced his cry of pain back into his throat.

"You're an astonishingly stubborn machine." Rahad's smile bore an edge of pure malice. "You've cost me two of my men. Though I would have had to discipline them for their carelessness, I would probably have let them live."

"Just as well I got to them first," Bodie mumbled.

"Why do you persist in struggling for this travesty of life?" Rahad nudged Bodie's torso with one boot, grinding into the connection just below his arm. 

Bodie fought back a wince. "It's my life."

"Scraps of meat held together by bits of wire pretending to have thoughts and feelings?" Rahad spat on the floor. "At least we Humanists accept that there are limits to what humankind should do."

"Then give up your spaceships and your computers and stay on your own planet. Go back to peasant farming and dying of the common cold."

"Insolence as well?" Rahad's smile went stiff. "I think that deserves some punishment, don't you?"

He raised the icon sheet, his eyes gleaming at the fear Bodie was unable to disguise.

Just before the first terrible spasm of pain hit, Bodie sent a frantic message to his 'borg bits. 

Disengage. Shut down. Save yourself.

There was one brief data flash—##I'll be back##—and then Bodie was alone in his head again.

Alone with Rahad.

But this time he took something stronger than hope into the dark with him. Rahad's assumption that 'borgs were nothing more than mutilated meat had led him to seriously underestimate what Bodie was now capable of.

_I'm a weapon. Rahad doesn't know how big a mistake he's made._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Satellite send me pictures_  
Get it in the eye, take it to the wire  
Spinning like a dynamo  
Feeling going round and round  
Runnin' out of chips,   
You got no lightning in this town.  
So don't look down 

 

"Good morning, R4A5Y!" 

Ernest Harbinger sounded entirely too cheerful for a man who had spent a late night in dry-as-dust discussions over minor agenda items. R4A5Y, who'd had to listen to it all, had been tempted to power down out of sheer boredom more than once. Yet only hours later Harbinger was once more clear eyed and brisk. His bright red and white sport clothing was a garish splash of colour against the more subtly decorated walls of the space station common room.

"Morning, sir. You're heading for the gym?"

"No, I prefer a morning jog. Have to stay in shape for the day during meetings like this." He gave R4A5Y a sharp look. "You don't mind coming with me?"

"Mr. Cowley's orders are to shadow you."

"Must be dull, keeping to my pace."

"I do have variable speed control."

Harbinger grinned and slapped him lightly on the shoulder before setting off. R4A5Y followed, moderately impressed that Harbinger was making no effort to set a punishing pace. A man who knew his own capacity, and felt no need to show off for a cyborg.

As they followed the gently curving corridors of Murani Station, R4A5Y kept most of his sensor grid on high alert, monitoring his surroundings on several levels. Harbinger's white dot moved steadily a meter ahead of him, Cowley and Murphy were both off-duty and in their assigned quarters, and Ambassador Rahad was somewhere well away in the Awaräe quarters.

All quiet.

Sheikh Achmeia had relayed Ambassador Rahad's request for privacy screening to Cowley, who had duly instructed R4A5Y to reconfigure his scanners to evade the station's screening technology. 

"If Sheikh Achmeia is trusting me with security, then he can damn well let me do it my own way. Don't get caught, R4A5Y."

Typical Cowley, he thought. Well, if Cowley could do some circumventing, then he could as well. 

R4A5Y engaged the nanite scanning ap. 

There had been no further sign of the unknown cyborg—he'd run periodic scans during the night, but the nanite trace hadn't shown up again. The extra shielding over the Awaräe delegation's quarters had taken some work to bypass, but all standard scanning showed only normal levels of human activity there. Beginning to wonder if he'd developed a minor glitch, R4A5Y had run diagnostics on his scanner functions, but all were at optimum. 

By the time he and Harbinger were a quarter of the way around the station there was still no response to the nanite trace. R4A5Y tried to fine-tune the pick-up, focusing on some of the individual system characteristics, but his own background data interfered too much to allow that to work.

_That nanite trace was there,_ he thought, throttling back his stride as Harbinger slowed slightly to greet two of the station security people on duty in the hall. _ANN would know if I wasn't performing to standard._

Past one junction, and then another, further and further around the station, and still no result. Just as R4A5Y was beginning to wonder if he really didn't need a diagnostic overhaul, a blip appeared on his visor display. The nanite scan finally showed a positive result.

Without faltering in his stride, R4A5Y refocused the scanner to double check. 

Nanite trace. No question of it this time. 

R4A5Y opened his tagging ap and tagged the nanite trace with a dark blue dot. He had to stifle a sharp whistle of surprise when the blue showed up, clear and strong, right beside Rahad's red dot in the Awaräe delegation's quarters.

R4A5Y split his attention, monitoring the cyborg and Rahad with peripherals while keeping his main focus on Harbinger. No alarm raised, no sign of movement. Rahad and the cyborg were so close they might well be sitting side-by-side having a cozy cup of tea. 

Which made no sense at all, unless Rahad had lied about his aversion to cyborgs. 

He keyed his com to Cowley's private addy and sent an urgent blip. A few interminable seconds later, Cowley's holo appeared in the heads-up display of the optivisor.

"What is it?" Cowley demanded, half his attention obviously on something else.

"I just caught trace of another 'borg on the station. It's in Rahad's quarters right now."

"You're certain?" Cowley snapped to attention.

"Caught the nanite trace. Want me to sound a general alarm or go in stealth mode?"

Cowley's mouth tightened. "Neither."

"Sir?" R4A5Y almost came to a stop before he caught himself and dashed after Harbinger.

"Use your head, man. How do you intend to explain to the Awaräe that you've breached their privacy screening? Especially given Ambassador Rahad's beliefs?"

"Better than I could explain letting Rahad be assassinated by a cyborg under the nose of CI5," R4A5Y retorted. 

"Scan Rahad."

R4A5Y turned his attention to Rahad, expecting at the least to find high stress levels. To his surprise Rahad's physiological readings radiated wellbeing. But when he refocused on the 'borg, he recognized it was the nanite trace that wasn't normal, and he sharpened the sensor scan. More data, and he winnowed through it, looking for anomalies.

He found them in plenty: stress hormones off the charts, malfunctioning neural connections and suboptimal nanite utilization. The unknown 'borg was operating at less than eighty percent efficiency, and his neural net hadn't even fully integrated.

Highly unlikely to be an assassin then: at this level of function, a skilled and determined human would have a statistically significant chance of stopping the 'borg.

"What's going on?" He focused back on Cowley's holo. "Did you know about this?"

"This isn't something to be discussed over an open channel. Where are you?"

"We're on the main level, approaching junction 12. Harbinger will turn at the junction and head back to the conference area."

"Carry on, then. I'll meet you outside the conference room."

R4A5Y had to forcibly bring all his attention back to Harbinger as Cowley's holo vanished. 

_What's the devious old bastard up to?_

It was nothing new for the controller to hold back information from his agents, but the way he had reacted to R4A5Y's report was unusual even for Cowley. If Cowley decided to influence the course of the talks it wouldn't be the first time he'd played a long game, but try as he might, R4A5Y could see no way that endangering Rahad would further the goals of CI5. 

Something Cowley said when he first arrived on Murani Station came back to R4A5Y's mind. Peculiar tastes, Cowley had said of Rahad. 

R4A5Y shuddered. The damage levels of the unknown 'borg hinted at something darker than 'peculiar'.

Would Cowley allow that kind of treatment to further some agenda of his own?

R4A5Y tried to push the thought from his mind. Harbinger's safety was his job here, and whatever game Cowley was playing was none of his business. 

But one of the drawbacks of being a cyborg was that data couldn't be forgotten. His mind involuntarily kept going back to stress hormone readings.  
That 'borg was in trouble.

By now, Harbinger had worked up a sweat, and he was gradually slowing as his breath came harder. At the next intersection, he waved in the direction of the side corridor, as R4A5Y had predicated, and led them back toward the main conference area. 

Cowley emerged from the anteroom as they drew up to the entryway.

"Good morning, Mr. Cowley!" Harbinger called cheerily. "Great running here. You should join us tomorrow."

Cowley slapped his leg and winced, slightly more than need be. "I'd like to, Dr. Harbinger, but I'm afraid that's not possible."

As Harbinger slowed, R4A5Y felt a sudden subtle vibration that set his teeth on edge. Even on high alert he couldn't identify the source; it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. He half-turned, trying to track it, and his sensors hit a spot as blank as a black hole.

The vibration spiked even as all his sensors fritzed at once.

"Down!" he shouted, hurling himself at Harbinger and Cowley, driving both men to the deck, spreading his arms and legs to cover as much of them as possible. There was the shrill whine of a sonic disruptor firing, once, twice, and then cycling painfully higher, as whoever fired realized R4A5Y's gearsuit was shielding the targets. 

R4A5Y felt as if he were being shaken apart. Even with the body armour of the gearsuit, he couldn't take the disruptor's blast for more than a few seconds before being irreversibly damaged, but any move to save himself would leave Cowley and Harbinger exposed. Cowley was cursing and pushing at him, trying to get free, but R4A5Y braced himself and pressed down, keeping the struggling men sheltered as much as possible. 

The station's alarm sounded, drowning out the whine of the disruptor. Footsteps pounded down the corridors from several directions, and in the distance, R4A5Y heard the security doors locking down as security personnel sealed the station.

The disruptor cut off as suddenly as it had started. The silence echoed emptily, a jumble of data whirling through R4A5Y's optivisor as his shaken systems attempted a reboot. He managed to pull together enough control to roll off Cowley and Harbinger, but couldn't engage either scanners or weapons systems reliably. He couldn't pull his tagging app on-line to see if anyone but diplomats and security people were in the crowd gathering around them.

Cowley dragged Harbinger to his feet and pushed him toward Murphy. "Get him out of here!" He turned to R4A5Y. "After him, man!"

"Not sure I can." R4A5Y hauled himself shakily upright, knees like jelly and ears ringing. His optivisor flared green, and he lost visual completely. Cowley caught him by the arm as he staggered.

"Medic!" Harbinger's voice cut through the babble. "My bodyguard's down!"

R4A5Y waved him off. "I'll live, I'll live. Give me a second." His vision rebooting, he wrenched the rest of his systems back into function with an effort of will. He caught sight of Harbinger still resisting Murphy's urging. "Go on, sir, go!"

"Do you have sustainable function?" Cowley demanded.

"Buzzing all over but no permanent damage."

Cowley looked dubious but accepted his word. "On your bike then!"

R4A5Y swept his scanners along the adjoining corridors. A display of moving lights in various colours—security people, diplomats, station service workers—but every one of them was registered in the system. With a personal scrambler, the assassin was as good as invisible.

Or was he?

R4A5Y blipped the station's ANN.

"CI5 priority request. Sensor interface, internal corridors only. Parameters consistent with normal station function."

"Affirmative."

R4A5Y braced himself as the data shunt from the station began to pour in. The flow was overwhelming at first, so he narrowed the parameters further, focusing on corridor temperature and atmospheric components. A scrambler could hide the assassin, but it couldn't hide the air around him. Even shielded, he had to breathe.

He did a spiral search along the corridors, hunting not a presence but an absence. Assuming the assassin was fully human, how far could he have gone in the time since the attack? 

There. 

A flicker of interruption in the data stream. A place where the corridor wall momentarily gave no temperature reading at all.

R4A5Y focused. The flicker was difficult to keep track of, more of a suggestion of absence than anything else, but it was there, and all he had to go on. The little data-blank was in motion, heading briskly in the direction of the station's crew quarters. 

Cursing, he broke into a run. Once the assassin got into a crowd of people the confusion would make for a perfect hostage situation. As he ran, R4A5Y drew his electron prism gun from the holster. A prism gun was more focused than a sonic; it required better aim, but nothing less than a fully armoured gearsuit would stop the charge. 

The data-blank had almost reached a denser concentration of people in a large room. R4A5Y put on a burst of speed, desperately trying to get in visual range before his quarry lost himself in the crowd. He threw himself into the next intersection, focusing so much on his data functions that he barrelled headlong into a knot of approaching station crew. In the time it took to push his way through the cursing and protesting group, the data interruption that marked the scrambler vanished. 

The assassin had timed it perfectly. The room beyond the doors was one of the station's commissaries, crowded with people at shift change, moving between serving stations and tables, gathering in large and small groups. As R4A5Y burst into the commissary, heads turned and people stared at him, every eye fixed nervously on his prism gun.

"Who just came in here?" he shouted.

The only response was a confused murmuring.

"Come on, somebody must have seen him. He was only a few steps ahead of me."

The murmuring grew louder. He could pick some of it out: "Call security." "What's it talking about?" "That's a cyborg, it's armed!"

R4A5Y scanned the room. Every biotag registered with the station's ANN. In addition to the door he had entered by, there were four others, leading off to different crew areas. In none of those areas was there an untagged person or that distinctive break in the data stream.

"You'd better stand down," a tall woman in a mechanic's uniform said. "We've blipped security; they'll be here any second."

"Bloody cyborg," another voice muttered just loudly enough for R4A5Y to hear. "There's no weapons allowed on station."

With a snarl of frustration, R4A5Y slammed the prism gun back into its holster. 

"Yeah, get security. Bugger all use they'll be now."

B&D&B&D&B&D

"Anything?" Cowley demanded as R4A5Y made his way slowly back into the conference room some time later.

"Nothing." R4A5Y shook his head in disgust. "He was wearing a scrambler. I tried to use negative data flow; managed to track him to sector 17, but then he went through the staff commissary. Too many people in the area to keep the it all straight."

"A personal shield?" Cowley demanded. "You're sure?"

"It felt like an empty space in the sensor scan. Can't be anything else."

"Why couldn't the station's ANN track this 'empty space' then?"

"It may not be finely calibrated enough. I could only do it because I had an idea what to look for. He turned it off in the commissary. Nobody would have noticed a thing—ordinary human senses can't pick it up." R4A5Y scratched his head. "He must have picked up a crew bio-tag from somewhere. There's still no untagged life signs anywhere."

"A personal shield, attacking here on the station, in front of dozens of potential witnesses—that kind of gall can only be one person," Cowley said definitely. "Ramos."

"Ramos," R4A5Y agreed. "How did he get aboard the station though?"

"That's what you'll find out. Murphy—there you are," he added as Murphy reappeared. "How's Harbinger?"

"He took a graze from the sonic, but he looks better than either of you," Murphy said. "Sheikh Achmeia's taken him to his personal quarters to be seen by a doctor. 

"Sir?" R4A5Y took his first good look at Cowley, and recognized the pain in the pinched-thin mouth and pale face.

"Ach, you knocked me on my bad leg. Better than being pulped to mincemeat. No time for that now, we need to get after Ramos. Are you functional, R4A5Y?"

"Not at full capacity but operational. Must remember to send whoever printed that gearsuit a very good bottle of scotch."

"That is not accurate." The voice of ANN7380973 suddenly sounded on the open com. "You are functioning at less than seventy percent capacity. Recommend your return to the ship for reconfiguration."

"I don't have time right now, ANN," R4A5Y replied. "We've got an attempted assassination on our hands."

"Bio-condition indicates contact with a sonic disruptor. Your stress readings have spiked into condition yellow, and some of your biological functions have been impacted. Your performance effectiveness will decline 1.84 percent for every 300 seconds you delay past recommended reconfiguration time." 

"I'm on duty," he repeated sharply.

Cowley hesitated, glancing between R4A5Y and Murphy. "Murphy, run the station logs, check all the arrivals with a fine-tooth comb. Get on the chief of security and organize a physical search of the station. Broadcast the latest holo of Ramos and tell them to use visual ID and DNA monitors, not just scanners. R4A5Y, you're off duty. Go back to your ship and get reconfigured."

"There's no need, sir, I can carry on."

"That's an order, lad. You're no use to me in anything but peak condition. Ramos' reputation depends on perfect success, and he won't give up just because we've been lucky once. I want him, R4A5Y."

R4A5Y sighed. "Yes, sir."

R4A5Y watched Cowley limp away and rubbed slightly trembling hands along his arms. Cowley must have the wind up to take him off duty at a time like this. Much as he hated to admit it though, ANN and Cowley were right. It still felt as if a faint vibration were running through his bones, leaving him cold and shaky. His blood sugar levels were dropping rapidly as his systems tried draw enough energy to compensate. He needed reconfiguration if he wanted to keep going. 

Even so, he wanted first to look through the station logs himself. 

"Ray," ANN's voice came through his personal link. "You require assistance. Please return to the ship now."

"I'll be there soon. I just need to check something first."

"I am not at liberty to allow you ignore your condition. I will notify the Controller of any further delay."

"I'm on my way. R4A5Y out." He deliberately silenced the com-link. Normally ANN's protectiveness gave him a feeling of security; now he had an uneasy sense of being hemmed in. She was right, he knew, and yet—

With a start, he realized this was the first time he could recall her using her informal name for him when he was off-ship. He'd always kept a firm line between their public and private relationships, as much to protect her as himself. For ANN to overstep it meant she must have determined something was seriously wrong.

ANN couldn't be seriously worried about him; she'd seen him in worse condition on other missions.

"Problem, Ray?" Murphy paused in giving orders to the station, giving him a concerned look.

R4A5Y shook his head. "My ANN worries too much."

"Go back to the ship," Murphy said. "We can manage without you for a bit, and once you get back up to speed you'll be more use."

"I'm not a bloody invalid," R4A5Y snarled. "I'm functioning!"

Murphy raised his hands. "Easy, mate. Just saying." He turned away.

"Murph." R4A5Y caught his arm. "Sorry." 

I hate being monitored all the time, he wanted to say. I hate having my whole existence controlled by the damn nanites. I hate that I'm so much a machine I don't trust my instincts to know how to take care of myself.

Instead he shrugged sheepishly. Murphy nodded, and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"By the way, we know how the assassin got aboard," he said. "They found a courier ship up on docking level 9. Both crew are dead, the ANN's been destroyed and every surface on the ship sterilized. Ruthless and thorough."

"Sounds like Ramos. Question now is: how's he planning on getting away?"

B&DB&DB&DB&D

ANN and Cowley were right. 

By the time he made it back to the ship, R4A5Y was visibly trembling, his optical scanners fuzzy with static at the edges. The neural connections between machine and fleshware were alternately numb and painful, and he couldn't quite trust his gyro function.

For once it was a relief to undergo reconfiguration. Unable to totally concentrate on his mission because of the distraction of the unknown cyborg, R4A5Y welcomed having his focus shifted completely to his body. Still, as soon as he was released from the cradle in medbay, his thoughts went back to Rahad and the 'borg. His readings hadn't been able to pinpoint just how badly the other cyborg was damaged. Was Rahad allowing nanite reconfiguration, so the 'borg could recover from what was being done to him? Or was part of Rahad's enjoyment watching his captive steadily weaken and deteriorate?

"Ann," he called as he shrugged into a clean coverall, "pull up all the information you can find on Ambassador Rahad. Look especially on the gossip sites and the anonymous chatrooms. Analyse those nanite scans I took and run a comparison with cyborg damage and functional impairment."

"Ray?" Her voice went sharp with alarm. "Are you anticipating serious functional impairment?"

"No, no," he said hastily. "I just have a hunch about Rahad."

"Certainly, Ray. Do you suspect the ambassador of being involved in the assassination attempt?"

"I—" He broke off. ANN constantly backed up all his sensor readings and monitored his functions, so she knew about the data he'd been collecting. But there was a difference between analysing data and having actual confirmation. Admitting his real interest in Rahad aloud would put it on the record, and right now he wasn't sure if he wanted Cowley to have access to that.

"I'm not sure," he went on. "Analyse those anomalous readings I got from his quarters, and let's see what he's up to."

"Yes, Ray. Data search beginning. I recommend food and a brief rest period before you return to duty. I will have preliminary results by that time."

"Thanks, luv." 

In the galley, he programmed the printer for a pot of tea, and selected a vegetarian pasta dish from its menu. While the printer worked, he pulled up a virtual doodle pad to try and plan his next moves. In all the confusion, he and Cowley had never discussed the other cyborg again, and now he was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake alerting Cowley to its presence. 

He'd just poured his tea and was scribbling out a list of possible areas of Murani Station to search when a soft cascade of chimes rang.

"Controller Cowley is at the airlock," ANN announced.

R4A5Y blew out a deep breath. In all the time he'd worked for CI5, the controller had never set foot aboard ANN7380973. There could only be one reason why Cowley would want to speak to him F2F now, and his heart sank.

He slid down the microbead ladder to meet Cowley at the entrance hatch.

"Welcome aboard, sir. I was just about to report for duty. Care for some tea?"

Cowley nodded absently, and R4A5Y led the way back to his living quarters. He noted that while Cowley seemed completely comfortable with the gliding beads, he stiffened slightly on entering the galley and stopped short. R4A5Y turned from the printer, where he was programming for another mug.

"Sir?"

"I can't see in the dark."

"Sorry, sir. I sometimes forget when I'm—" He bit back 'tired', settled on, "—distracted. ANN, lights up please."

Cowley blinked a few times as the ship's ambient lights gradually brightened. He picked up the mug at the printer's tray before seating himself in the sling chair across the table from R4A5Y.

"So, you think there's a cyborg on Murani Station."

That was the old man, no beating around the bush when he had a point to make.

"I _know_ there's a cyborg. The nanite readings were unmistakable. It's in Rahad's quarters, and it's damaged." He paused to take a swallow of tea and collect his thoughts. "You mentioned Rahad's peculiar tastes when I first came aboard. Just how peculiar are they?"

Cowley's mouth tightened. "Gossip."

"Sometimes has grain of truth. He abuses them, doesn't he? He hides behind that humanist shite so he can get his jollies out of abusing 'borgs." R4A5Y leaned across the table, looking Cowley in the eye. "We have to do something."

"Humanism is a legal and accepted philosophy on almost all settled worlds. Ambassador Rahad is perfectly within his rights to practice it if he sees fit," Cowley said irritably. 

"What he's doing to that 'borg is more than just philosophy. He's damaging it. Humanism calls for a separation of human and machine, not some kind of vendetta. According to my scans, the levels of stress hormones are high enough to indicate severe trauma over an extended period. My guess is Rahad's buggered up the neural input circuits, maybe done a patch job on the sensory protection overrides, so the 'borg can't shut off the input receptors."

"As long as its nanites are regularly reconfigured, there won't be permanent damage, you know that. Any sensation of pain it experiences is simply an illusion due to neural chip tampering."

"Really? How would you know?" 

"Och, don't take that tone with me—" 

"I've been _damaged_ since I was borged," R4A5Y cut in. "And you know what? It feels just like pain used to when I was still human. The circuits may be different, but they're still there, or we couldn't function."

Cowley looked away. "The information we have suggests that Rahad won't do any long-term irreparable damage. Cyborgs are valuable, after all."

"He doesn’t care about value. He enjoys having a slave he can torture." R4A5Y made no attempt to hide his rage and loathing.

"Cyborgs aren't slaves!"

"We're partially organic, partially manufactured constructs that are the legal property of the manufacturer because the organic portion is not independently viable." R4A5Y recited the legal terminology. "Yeah, yeah, I've had all the fine print programmed in too. We treat you very well, considering you're really just expensive machines with a few leftover organic bits stuck in here and there. All very nice until some bastard like Rahad comes along who wants to play sick games with what's left of the meat."

"Look, R4A5Y, I can see why you'd be upset—"

R4A5Y laughed. "You do, do you?"

" _But_ the United Earth Supreme Court decided that issue years ago. Exceeding a cyborg's neural capacity isn't considered torture."

"Tell that to the person who's being burned alive. Or having needles stuck in their eyes. Or having their guts pulled out a centimeter at a time."

"None of which is really happening, no matter what it feels like!" Cowley snapped. "And what exactly are you proposing I do?"

"CI5 has ultimate authority over all cyborgs, no matter who actually owns them. That's also United Earth law. If you tell Rahad he has to turn his 'borg over to you, he won't have a choice."

"So you've not only spied on the Awaräe delegation without authorization, now you're intending to steal the ambassador's property?"

"Considering he's holding a cyborg as a sex slave, Rahad's not in much of a position to complain, is he? What would his Humanist friends think if they found out?"

Cowley's glare sharpened. "Do you have any actual proof of sexual misconduct?"

R4A5Y shook his head reluctantly. "The scans aren't that accurate. But you're the one who said he had some peculiar tastes. What else could it be?"

ANN suddenly spoke up. "Query: Cyborgs are programmed to be incapable of physiological sexual response. Why would Ambassador Rahad wish to engage a cyborg as a sexual partner?"

When it became obvious Cowley wouldn't answer, R4A5Y said, "ANN, access human data files for the term 'sadism'."

"Marquis de Sade," ANN rattled off. "Cross-reference, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. Bondage. Domination. Humiliation. Pain.

"Some humans derive pleasure from inflicting pain during sexual intercourse, while others derive pleasure from receiving pain." 

Listening to ANN's clinically detached recitation, it was almost possible to forget the ugly possibilities inherent in the words.

"Further query: it is unclear why Ambassador Rahad would wish to inflict sexual pain on a cyborg, if it is incapable of deriving pleasure from the act. Or is the ambassador the one who wishes to receive pain?"

R4A5Y sighed. "Rahad is the kind of sadist who gets off on inflicting pain on those who don't want it, don't enjoy it. He wouldn't have any fun if the one he was hurting liked it."

He turned back to Cowley, his decision made. "And that's why I have to get that cyborg out of there."

"R4A5Y, I am giving you a direct order to stand down. I don't have to remind you that these peace talks are critical. Upsetting and disturbing the Awaräe will not be helpful. If the Awaräe delegation's security team should catch you, negotiations could break down completely. Not to mention that your job—your _only_ job—is protecting Harbinger."

"We can't leave him there to be tortured." R4A5Y hated the helpless sound in his voice. "If he were human you wouldn't let Rahad get away with this for a second."

"But it's not human, is it? And there's something else you've forgotten." Cowley's voice gentled. "Regardless of what Rahad is doing, this is an illegal cyborg. I had Murphy do a check, and all our units are accounted for. It's not CI5. Even if you do manage to get it out somehow, we'll only have to deactivate it." He touched R4A5Y's shoulder. "Leave it be, lad. Leave it be."

R4A5Y stood staring at the doorway long after Cowley left. 

From the moment he'd accepted being 'borged, he'd understood that he was no longer considered on a par with humans. He'd given up a lot, in exchange for physical survival. He'd tried to make the best of it, tried to tell himself that his usefulness gave him a purpose that outweighed the disadvantages. But listening to Cowley dismiss his concerns so completely made him made him feel cold and hollow inside in a way the sonic damage had not.

"I am sorry, Ray," ANN said softly. "I know you wanted to help, but it is not your responsibility."

"Isn't it?" R4A5Y said wearily. 

"Controller Cowley was correct. Any cyborg not manufactured by CI5 is subject to deactivation on discovery."

"Have to make sure he doesn't get discovered then, don't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Right now, outside of Rahad and Cowley, I'm the only one who actually knows there's a 'borg in there. So, if I get him out, nobody will know that either."

"Your reasoning is flawed. If the unidentified cyborg disappears, Controller Cowley will know you are the only logical suspect. The penalty for assisting an illegal cyborg is—"

"I can't leave him there," R4A5Y cut in. "Cowley's wrong about what cyborgs can and can't feel, and you know it. You're the one who puts me back together when I'm fucked up. You _know_ just how much I feel."

"Ray, I cannot permit you to disobey a direct order from the Controller."

"I'm going," he said, feeling a deep wave of stubborn resentment rising through him. ANN was not going to keep him penned in the ship while that 'borg suffered.

"Ray, please," ANN pleaded. "Your wellbeing is my primary function. You must not risk yourself on an unauthorized mission."

R4A5Y took a deep breath. "Override code nine thirteen alpha epsilon. I am declaring this a priority A-3 emergency, which requires me to act on my own initiative to maintain mission integrity."

"Ray—"

"Override code nine thirteen alpha epsilon," R4A5Y repeated. "As of now, you will communicate with no one except at my express directive. Is that understood, ANN7380973?"

"Understood, R4A5Y." Her voice had gone flat and mechanical.

"I'm sorry, Ann," he said gently. "But I've got to do this."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Now Billy,_  
Billy, don't you lose my number  
'Cause you're not anywhere  
That I can find you 

 

If making the decision to rescue the captive cyborg had not been difficult, putting the plan into motion was maddeningly slow.

With his nanites reconfigured, R4A5Y had no plausible reason to linger on the ship. Unwilling to arouse Cowley's suspicions any further by being slow to report for duty, he'd hustled back to his post as soon as he'd manually secured ANN7380973's communications systems. It felt odd knowing that he couldn't call on her, that he had nothing to rely on except his built-in circuits. Except for a few times on leave, he'd never been deliberately out of touch.

Yet mixed in with the awkward diminished feeling there was also a surprising sense of relief at no longer being monitored. He hadn't expected that very basic lack of communication to leave him feeling so free. 

An anchor could steady you against the current, or hold you in place so long you drowned.

Though both ran scans regularly, neither R4A5Y nor the station's ANN had detected a trace of a person without a bio-tag aboard the station. The station also detected no area where its scanners weren't functional. For all intents and purposes, Ramos might as well have vanished the moment he let up on the disruptor's trigger.

As far as R4A5Y could tell, the assassination attempt had no motivating effect on the assembled diplomats. At Harbinger's insistence the negotiations had been postponed only long enough to allow a thorough security sweep of the conference area before he'd called the talks back into session. With R4A5Y back on duty, Harbinger assured the delegates there was no longer any danger, and personally led the way back to the meeting room. R4A5Y overheard a lot of gossip and speculation during refreshment breaks as he followed Harbinger through the day, but saw little he would call progress. For his part Cowley ignored him, satisfied that his orders were being obeyed.

R4A5Y's opinion of Harbinger improved markedly as the day went on. Though the sonic graze had left him noticeably uncomfortable, he wore the sling supporting his arm with panache, and laughed off any show of concern. He'd also assured Sheikh Achmeia that only R4A5Y's quick thinking and action had saved his life, and that he retained complete confidence in CI5.

Despite his respect for the man, R4A5Y couldn't repress a fierce wish that Harbinger would just give in to his discomfort and pack it in for the night. Keeping constantly on high alert was wearying, even for a cyborg. Until Harbinger was safely bedded down, he couldn't make a move. 

R4A5Y ran another nanite scan. There was still no sign of the indigo dot. It had shown up on the scans until about ten minutes before the start of the session, and then suddenly blinked out. He was sure it was no coincidence Ambassador Rahad had joined the Awaräe delegation almost immediately afterward. The scans had still registered high levels of stress hormones and damage indicators. The only positive change was a higher level of integration; the 'borg was now in almost total control of his internal systems. Considering the damage he'd suffered, that could only mean he was aware of what was happening and consciously pushing his integration.

At least as long as Rahad was occupied at the conference table, the 'borg had a respite.

The sound of the gavel rapping briskly on the table brought R4A5Y's full attention back to the conference room.

"Honourable delegates, this session is adjourned. We'll reconvene immediately after breakfast in the morning. Meeting notes will be collated and pinged to your datastreams as soon as possible." Harbinger's smile encompassed the whole group. "I wish everyone a pleasant evening."

The diplomats did not exactly leap to their feet in relief, but there was an immediate and definite lightening of mood as seats were pushed back and data visors removed. Delegate Tanaka rose gracefully. "It is my pleasure to invite you all to join me for refreshments in the entertainment lounge before we retire for the night. We can all celebrate Dr. Harbinger's narrow escape today."

"Please, Delegate Tanaka, don't make a fuss on my account. I'm perfectly all right." If Harbinger was faking that look of slight discomfiture he was doing a damn good job of it.

"All the more reason why we should be thankful."

"We will be honoured to join Delegate Tanaka in refreshments." Dignitary Tennar bowed politely and offered his arm.

"You don't need to stay, R4A5Y," Harbinger said easily. "I see Murphy hovering; let him take over, and you get some rest. You're okay?"

R4A5Y didn't hesitate. With Dignitary Tennar setting the example, the rest of the Awaräe delegation would have no choice but to join in the socialising. This might well be the only opportunity he got.

"I'm still fully functional, but the sonic did give me quite the buzz. Some downtime would do all my systems good." 

And not a word of a lie in there either, R4A5Y thought, even if it was entirely misleading.

"Go on, then. I'll see you in the morning." Harbinger turned away, his attention already on one of the Albion delegates.

R4A5Y caught Murphy's eye and gave him the "take over" signal. Murphy nodded and eased his way through the crowd to Harbinger's side.

With one quick glance around to ensure that Cowley was occupied, R4A5Y slipped out of the conference room. He knew better than to run—that was a sure way to attract unwanted attention—but he headed back to the ship at a brisk pace. 

It wasn't until his signal to ANN to open the hatch went unanswered that it hit home just what he was risking. Getting caught could well mean an end to his relationship with ANN, an end to useful work, an end to his life in CI5. Cowley might not order him deactivated, but he would never trust him again. Being relegated to some minor administrative post where he could do no harm would be the best he could hope for.

"Better not get caught then, hadn't I," he muttered as he manually punched in the hatch commands and stepped in. 

"I'm home, Ann. Engage security level five," he said. While the station ANN would notice he'd upped the ship's security level, there was no help for it. It was more important that the station not see what he was doing.

"Security level five engaged," ANN responded. "Welcome home, Ray. Do you want me to print out a meal?"

"No time. I need my gear."

"Query: is there an emergency regarding Dr. Harbinger?"

"No." R4A5Y took a deep breath. "I'm going to get that cyborg."

ANN was silent.

In his quarters, he stripped out of his gearsuit and DNA-keyed his private locker. From the various compartments he took another set of charges for the prism gun, a parachute-cord wristband, a roll of nanowire to clip to his utility belt and a carbon-fibre folding blade. For a moment he hesitated, and then picked up an electron prism carbine as well. A bit bulky, and hard to explain if someone questioned him, but it might be useful if it came to an out-and-out fight with Rahad's bodyguards.

The idea that he was actually considering taking it that far started a faint chill deep inside. 

He wished he'd taken the opportunity to get his own personal scrambler when he'd had the chance—more than one planet had a thriving black market in them—but there was no help for it now. Both the station's security systems and its live personnel recognized him as a CI5 operative. In theory he could come and go as he pleased. That, and sheer gall, would have to do.

Finally, he pulled out his back-up gearsuit. The matte-black fabric moulded itself to his body as he slipped into it, interface jacks clicking into his built-ins without a hitch. One by one he activated the controls that brought up physical and electronic body armour, rapidly flicking through the readouts on his optivisor. All functions on-line, at 100% capacity. He engaged the secondary controls, the ones he'd modified himself, and ran through their functions as well.

All systems go. Only one thing left to do.

He hesitated for an instant, knowing that this was the thing that would commit him, the thing he could not explain away. Then using the knife blade, he pried his biotag off the other gearsuit and clipped it on his belt along with his weapons.

The long delay had one positive outcome: except for essential personnel in life-support and the servers attending the diplomats in the conference area, most people were off-duty. Murani Station ran on Caliphate time, which meant that planet evening and night hours were rest periods. Highly inefficient, in a time of galaxy-wide communication, but the old-fashioned standards of the Caliphate's worked in his favour this time. There would still be security personnel to deal with, but he might be able to avoid regular station staff entirely.

Lucky for him.

"Ann, I'm logged in as being on a rest period. Dr. Harbinger has Murphy on him until tomorrow morning, so unless Ramos hits again, nobody will be after me. I'm leaving security level five in effect, so don't respond to the coms. Patch anything about Harbinger straight through to me."

"Ray, your chances of success in retrieving this cyborg are 27 percent. That is an unacceptable risk level."

"I'm sorry, luv, but I can't let this go on. I _can't_."

"Query: what will you do with it if you do succeed?"

A very good question, and one R4A5Y had asked himself more than once as he'd considered a rescue mission. Without Cowley's backing, he and the other 'borg were both likely in for a short and nasty future, no matter what.

"Cowley will probably thank me for recruiting a new agent for free," he said, forcing a flippancy he didn't really feel. 

"Query: what will happen to me if you do not come back?" 

The desolation in the ship's mechanical voice brought him up short. He wanted to reassure her, but knew he couldn't lie to her either; her scanner functions knew him too well.

"If I can come back, I will," he said at last. "And whatever happens, Cowley won't blame you. You'll be all right."

"If anything happens to you, I will never be all right."

"I'm sorry. Override code nine thirteen alpha epsilon, ANN7380973. Enter stand-by mode."

"Acknowledged."

There was a soft sighing noise as the ship powered down, the control panel lights dimming. Even the decorative microbeads lost their lustre.

R4A5Y petted the wall awkwardly. "For your own good," he said softly. "You'll only fret while I'm gone."

He DNA-locked the hatchway behind him and headed down the access tunnel into the station.

He didn't look back.

B&D&B&D&B&D&B

In keeping with the station's quiet cycle, all the corridor lights had been dimmed. It wasn't completely dark, more an early evening dusk, which R4A5Y found oddly restful even though his optivisor still gave him total range of sight. He had to remind himself that the peace and quiet was an illusion, that there were still people behind every door, and the station's ANN was omnipresent.

Once away from the ship, he locked all thoughts of the future into the back of his mind. What would happen if he got caught, Cowley's reaction if he succeeded, any of the dozens of things that could go wrong, the possibility of another assassination attempt, all were catalogued and set aside. The only thing to concentrate on was the mission.

He didn't hurry. The station's ANN recognized him and the security personnel would know him as CI5's resident 'borg, so there was no point in haste or stealth. He was a security unit out doing his job, and no one had any reason to think otherwise.

As it happened, he encountered almost nobody in the corridors. The two patrolling guards he met saluted cordially but he could tell that beyond "Gearsuit, cyborg, CI5" he didn't really register on their attention. 

Cowley would have fried them.

When he got to the corridor junction closest to the Awaräe quarters, he slowed and began to search the walls carefully. A few minutes later, he found an inconspicuous access panel to the mechanical ducts. He paused for a quick scan to ensure he was still alone.

This was the bit that was going to be very tricky.

He pried the access panel open, relieved to see the door was large enough to merit a mechanical handle inside. Moving quickly but very cautiously, he unfastened the head covering rolled into his gearsuit's collar and tugged it up over his head. At the same moment that he drew the face-shield across with one hand, he unsnapped the biotag from his belt with the other and hung it on the handle of the door.

Holding his breath, he stepped back, waiting for any sign that what he'd done had registered. After almost a minute of silence, he was willing to believe he'd got away with it.

He was invisible.

Unlike the personal scrambler Ramos had used, R4A5Y's gearsuit would not show as an empty spot in the station's scanners. He wasn't sure how it worked; it had been explained to him that as long as he did nothing terribly odd, the suit's electronics would suggest very firmly to any scanning systems that it did not constitute a greater threat than the nearest blank wall. Chameleon suit, the gearhead who'd sold it to him had said with a laugh. He didn't get the reference, but as long as it worked, he didn't care.

To the station sensors, cyborg R4A5Y would be standing still, pressed somewhat awkwardly against the corridor wall. Perhaps not an orthodox position to take, but not one that should set off alarms. And any humans passing by would see nothing but a closed access door, like hundreds of others on the station.

R4A5Y was sure it wouldn't have worked if Rahad hadn't insisted that the Awaräe quarters be shielded. Any data coming through the shielding should have enough fuzz to it that what his suit was doing could be interpreted as a shielding glitch.

First part accomplished.

The only drawback was that in order to maintain his impersonation of a piece of corridor wall he couldn't use any of his external scanners. Luckily the optivisor functioned well in the visible light spectrum even without any augmentation. He'd downloaded and memorized a map of the area where he'd last spotted the nanite trace, and could only hope Rahad hadn't moved the 'borg while he was deactivated.

Setting his internal chrono ap to count down, R4A5Y slipped into the Awaräe quarters.

He'd been good at this even before he'd been 'borged, one of the best fully human operatives of one of Albion's law enforcement agencies. If not for that hovercycle crash—

R4A5Y shut that thought down firmly. Concentrate on the here and now. Get in and out unseen. Nothing else mattered.

The Awaräe quarters seemed deserted. Silently blessing Delegate Tanaka's charm and hospitality, R4A5Y made his way down the corridor as quickly as he dared. Luckily, Rahad was important enough that he got his pick of available quarters. His suite was second only in size to Dignitary Tennar's; it was also located conveniently close to the station's transport system. 

R4A5Y hardly dared believe his luck when he reached Rahad's door without encountering anyone. With no electronics at his disposal, this was where an intruder would normally be stymied. An attempt to jimmy open the door or bypass the lock would register automatically with the station's ANN. R4A5Y simply called up the access codes he had been given during his briefings.

The reputation of CI5 would take a terrible beating if he got caught, R4A5Y thought. 

Primary access code: accepted.

Secondary access code: accepted.

The door slid open with only a whisper of sound.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find, but what he saw stopped him cold. 

The 'borg was lying on the floor of a luxurious sitting room. The rugs and furniture had all been pushed to the walls, leaving him spread out on display in the middle of the bare floor like some obscene trophy. Clamps of ceramic and metal similar to the material of the station pinned his arms and legs to the floor. One arm ended at the elbow; the other was a full carbon-fibre replacement that fitted seamlessly into the ceramic shell that formed the 'borg's torso. Where the chest plate should have been was a mass of exposed wiring, and shockingly, some remnants of flesh.

Even for R4A5Y, it was a jolt to see a 'borg without covering, all it's components on display. Cyborgs were expected to keep their artificial parts decently out of sight around humans. This 'borg was almost indecent in his vulnerability.

Despite all that he was beautiful. 

His hair was very dark, worn in a neat spacer's crop, close around the ears and back of the neck. What remained of his fleshware—mainly his legs and lower torso—was sturdy and muscular, with fine pale skin showing between the scars. His face was bruised, probably from his latest encounter with Rahad, but remarkably undamaged. Indigo eyes, thickly fringed with dark lashes, watched R4A5Y with suspicion and only thinly-concealed fury.

"Think you'll know me again?" he said in a low harsh voice after a few seconds.

R4A5Y barely noticed. He still didn't dare use his sensors, but with 'borg's chest open he could access the internal readouts. He dropped to his knees, hands outstretched over the damaged torso, not daring to touch for fear of doing further damage. What he saw made him flinch and curse. 

"Jesus christ, what's Rahad been doing to you?" he blurted out.

"You must be new," the 'borg said. "You can't have missed it otherwise."

"I can't believe you're still functioning with these levels of damage. How are you maintaining your integration?"

"Buggered if I know." The 'borg shrugged slightly. "What do you want, suggestions for improvement?' 

"Oh, sorry." R4A5Y moved his face covering down for a moment so his optivisor was visible. "I'm from CI5. I'm here to rescue you." That claim was stretching the truth so hard it would snap nanowire, but if it got the 'borg's co-operation, R4A5Y was prepared to use it.

"Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?" the 'borg drawled.

"What?" R4A5Y stared.

The 'borg heaved a sigh. "I can't believe the classics are so little taught these days."

"Look, mate, play word games on your own time, all right? I'm here to get you out. Unless you want to stay strapped down here until Rahad comes back for the night?" 

"Well, since you ask so politely." The 'borg's voice was still mocking, but there was no disguising the flash of fear and rage at the mention of Rahad.

"Right, let's see what we can do here." R4A5Y bent over the clamp nearest him, on the truncated arm, firmly not looking at the slightly raw edges where the stump of flesh met the implant shield with its array of jacks. "How high's your integration right now?"

The 'borg's eyes flickered shut for a second. "Holding at 84 percent. I can get it higher, but every session with Rahad knocks it back down a notch."

"That should be enough." Eighty-four percent wasn't wonderful, but it made the rescue feasible. "At least I won't have to use my internal systems to boot you up enough to get you moving."

The 'borg's eyes fluttered closed for an instant. "I think that might kill you," he said uncertainly.

"Wouldn't do me much good, that's for sure. Once we get back to my ship we'll see if we can get your integration complete." 

"They use something on the clamps when they want to move me." The 'borg jerked his head in the direction of the one of the cabinets by the wall. "It's some sort of a key, looks like a little green circle on a stick."

Among the jumble on a shelf, R4A5Y found it: a dull green oval attached to about fifteen centimeters of well-insulated carbon fibre. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, and had an odd greasy feel when he rubbed his fingertips across it.

"This won't be pretty," the 'borg warned.

"What?" R4A5Y looked down, caught once more by the deep blue eyes. Put a suit of clothes on him and he could probably pass for human with some decent prosthetics. 

Except that every part of him was coded. W3A7P. Neatly stamped in microscopic letters on every single part that made him what he was now.

W3A7P. A cyborg. A machine. _Just like me._

"Oy, are you listening?"

"What?

"I almost got away once already. Rahad didn't like it at all. So he's got that thing set up so whenever the clamps open it gives me an almighty shock. Just to remind me to be a good boy."

"Jesus. What kind of a man . . ." R4A5Y trailed off. 

"Yeah. Man." The word rang with righteous fury and disgust. 

R4A5Y held out the key, deeply reluctant to cause further pain. "You sure I should—"

"No, don't bother, go on, there's a nice holosuite next door."

R4A5Y grinned. "Nah, seen them all already. Okay, W3A7P—"

"Don't fucking call me that," W3A7P broke in sharply.

"Look, mate—"

"My name's Bodie, all right. Just Bodie. Not some jumble of numbers and letters some computer put together to make my components easier to trace. _Bodie_."

R4A5Y stopped. "Cyborgs don't have names," he muttered, mouth stiff as if he'd taken a punch to the jaw. " _We_ don't have names." 

"Your choice, sunshine." W3A7P shrugged, a very human gesture under the sleek carbon fibre cover. "Me, I'm hanging on to what—and who—I am. That was Rahad's mistake: he thought because he could use my body, my mind had to go along with it."

R4A5Y opened his mouth, and shut it with a snap. There would be time later to argue the philosophy and ethics of cyborgs, provided they got a move on.

"Brace yourself," he said, and touched the key to the clamp around the carbon fibre arm.

It was awful. 

R4A5Y could actually hear the sizzling of raw current as the key made its connection with the lock. W3A7P jerked against the clamps, his torso arching, mouth open in a silent scream of agony. Only the knowledge that if he stopped they would have to do it all again kept R4A5Y pressing the key to the release mechanism for the unholy length of time it took for the clamp to finally spring open.

When both arms were free, they stopped for a few minutes to give W3A7P a chance to recuperate. He curled up, his arms wrapped around his torso, shuddering, his face grey and damp with sweat, breathing in short, harsh pants.

"C'mon," he muttered, eyes locked on something R4A5Y couldn't see. "Turn it fucking _down_."

"Turn what down?"

W3A7P shook his head impatiently. "My system's trying to dampen the pain, but it's not working."

"I suspect Rahad buggered up your controls so you can't." At W3A7P's appalled look, he shrugged. "Bastard wanted to enjoy it, didn't he? We can run a proper diagnostic back on the ship."

He tentatively reached out and squeezed W3A7P's shoulder, trying to offer some kind of comfort. 

"Get on with it," W3A7P gritted out. "Let's finish this."

It would be no kindness to go slowly. R4A5Y bent back to his task, steadfastly ignoring the tiny whimpers of pain forced through tight-clenched teeth. Cowley's words— _the sensation of pain is simply an illusion due to neural chip tampering_ —ran through R4A5Y's mind, and he cursed softly and steadily. 

What he was seeing was pain, and Cowley was a damned liar.

"It's like this every time?" he asked, once all four clamps were open.

W3A7P nodded grimly. He rolled clumsily onto his side, pushing himself awkwardly upright with only one arm. R4A5Y caught him as he swayed, and the artificial hand closed over his in a bruising grip.

"Don't let them take me back." He gestured clumsily at R4A5Y's prism gun. "Fry me if there's no other way." 

Halfway between a plea and an order, the bleak courage of the words tore him open.

"I won't, W3A7P," he promised.

"Bodie." 

"Bodie," he said tentatively. It felt so odd, applying an actual name to a cyborg, that the breath locked in his throat for a moment. He coughed, and said it again.

"Bodie." 

Bodie smiled, a brilliant grin, and it occurred to R4A5Y that this must be the first time someone else had acknowledged his name since he'd been 'borged. 

"Sorry, mate, I never asked your name."

"R4A5Y." For the first time in a long time, he felt a moment of shame at having allowed himself to be reduced so easily to a number.

If he expected Bodie's scorn or amusement, he was mistaken. The grin dimmed only slightly, and Bodie held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"All right." Doyle pushed every other concern aside. "Tell me straight now: can you make it out of here? Do I need to connect and reboot some of your systems?"

Bodie shook his head. "Not up for a sprint yet, but I probably could manage a decent stagger."

"Thank god." At Bodie's questioning look, he said, "I could do it, but it might make enough electronic noise to get through the shielding. I'm running off-grid right now and the longer we keep it that way the better.

"Okay, this is how we do it. You have to stay in touching distance of me all the time. No matter what happens, keep some part of your body in contact with mine."

Bodie looked him up and down, his smile closer to a leer. "Not that I'd object, but why?"

"Ever hear of a chameleon suit?"

One dark eyebrow rose. "Thought those were illegal."

R4A5Y scrubbed his hands over his face. "Don't think there's a thing in this room that isn't."

"Which makes me wonder what a good little CI5 operative is doing with one."

"It doesn't matter right now. We have to get a move on before—"

"Maybe I'd prefer to take my chances on my own."

"You wouldn't get past the end of the corridor." R4A5Y felt his temper and patience both fraying, and caught hold of Bodie's arm. "The station security system is set for DNA biotags. Rahad has demanded his quarters be shielded—"

"Can't imagine why," Bodie muttered.

"— _but_ as soon as you step outside the Awaräe delegation space, the station will note you're not tagged and send security people after you. You can't outrun them, and in your condition you can't outfight them. I'm the only chance you've got, sunshine, so either come with me now or stay and rot!"

Bodie looked up through his lashes. "You've convinced me. I'll come quietly."

"Then shift your carbon fibre arse!" R4A5Y snapped. "The chrono's ticking down."

"One thing." Bodie grabbed the sling holding the carbine, and tugged it firmly. "I want a gun."

"Can you use it?"

Bodie nodded. "I've been a merc most of my life. If it can kill somebody, I can use it."

R4A5Y pulled the sling over his head and handed the weapon over, reassured by the competent way Bodie checked it out. He fumbled a bit, obviously missing his left hand, before tucking it between his stump and his torso, but once it was securely seated, his hand settled onto the firing mechanism with the ease of long practice. 

"Listen, don't use it unless there's no other choice," R4A5Y said. "If this turns into a blazing gunfight in the corridors we're both dead. I want us out of here so quiet nobody notices you're gone until that door opens again. Once we're on my ship I've got a lot more room to deal with . . . everything," he ended lamely.

Bodie nodded again. "I know how to fight, and I know when not to."

"Let's move."

Bodie put his arm around R4A5Y's shoulders and leaned against him. "Close enough?"

Normally the flirtatious tone would have called for a response, but R4A5Y's attention was all on the door. "It'll have to be," he muttered, drawing his own prism gun and opening the door very slowly.

If getting into the Awaräe quarters had seemed too good to be true, getting out was a nightmare. Twice the sound of footsteps ringing in the corridor ahead sent them scuttling for cover. Luckily, both times whoever it was entered a room before coming near enough to spot them.

There was something of black farce in it, R4A5Y thought: the two of them armed to the teeth and clinging together like the two halves of a costume horse. When he glanced at Bodie, he saw a gleam of dark amusement in the other's eyes that told him their thoughts must be running on the same lines.

His awareness of time passing was like a thorn under his skin. Rahad's public behaviour had been punctiliously polite but he didn't seem the type to happily spend a lengthy evening making light conversation with people on the opposite side of an issue from his. It was more likely he would stay at the reception long enough to satisfy civility and then make his excuses. Every second they had to spend avoiding discovery was one closer to Rahad's return.

When they finally crossed out of the Awaräe quarters, he couldn't help a huge sigh of relief.

"Now what?" Bodie whispered.

"Keep as close as you can."

Another few steps down the corridor and R4A5Y swung open the access door to bring out his biotag. He clipped it to Bodie's arm and stepped back, patting his face shield to make sure it was securely in place as he did so.

"What’s that?" Bodie picked at the biotag, and R4A5Y hastily slapped his fingers away.

"It's my biotag. Like I said, the station's security system has a complete database of everybody on board, and they're all tagged. The ANN will sound an alert if it detects a life-form without a tag. But now, you've got my tag, and I'm chameleoned. That should be enough to get us back to my ship."

"And if someone comes around the corner and runs into us?"

"Burn that bridge once we get to it. Let's go."

Feeling more hopeful but still on high alert, R4A5Y led the way to the docking bay.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_There's a future to this life  
And it burns in the night  
There's a future to this life  
But it's like a sign in the sky_

 

It shocked Bodie rigid that they got clear without being caught. 

The whole rescue lark was mad to begin with, and carrying it off in the middle of an inhabited space station with obviously high security protocols in place was even crazier. The fact that R4A5Y— _and what kind of a name was that, anyway_ —had managed it left Bodie reeling between abject relief and suspicion that this was all another of Rahad's mind-games.

More subtle than his usual, maybe, but Bodie couldn't shake a fear that the whole thing was a VR set-up designed to give him the illusion of hope before bringing him back down even further.

If it's too good to be true . . . 

Play along for now, Bodie decided. Something about R4A5Y made him want to trust even when common sense said it was a bad idea. Maybe it was because for all his air of confidence, R4A5Y was nervous. He was certainly behaving like someone deep in enemy territory with no possibility of back-up. Would Rahad bother to make a simulation sweat, or touch its face covering over and over to make sure it hadn't slipped?

On the other hand, maybe it was the determined set of that gorgeous mouth, or the air of competent power in every move he made, or the fact Bodie found that sleek little green optivisor sexy as hell. 

Or maybe it was the prism carbine. R4A5Y had handed the weapon over without a microsecond of hesitation, and as far as Bodie could tell, it was functional. Having a weapon in his hand again made him almost forget for a moment that he only had one hand.

##Integration level 87.4 percent and holding.##

Bodie slowed for a moment, and sent his systems a partially coherent query. 

_Is all this real?_

He wasn't sure if the 'borg system understood what he meant, and was surprised at the prompt response.

##External coherence factors holding at 100 percent.## Following that came a definite image of a holoframe with a large red X through it.

Bodie stifled a chuckle. His systems and his instincts were in agreement. So, follow this tough little bastard along and see how far they could get.

R4A5Y led them through the deserted service corridors of the station into a private docking bay. There were only two access ramps, and R4A5Y carefully sealed the hatch at the station end before leading the way to the docking port on the right.

The identifying mini-holo that hovered beside the port showed a lovely ship, her pale ceramic hull swirling with red and gold micobeading. Elegance and class in every line of her, and Bodie's fingers itched for a chance at the controls.

"Activation, ANN7380973." Bodie noted where R4A5Y placed his hand on the softly glowing red-gold of the ship's hull. Something to remember for future use, if it came to that.

"ANN7380973 activated." The hatch spiralled open, and R4A5Y pushed them both inside with one last glance over his shoulder.

When the hatch closed, Bodie finally dared to let out a breath he'd been holding for what seemed like hours. He still wasn't sure if this was safety, but being out of the station's corridors at least felt a bit more secure.

"Ann, I'm home," R4A5Y announced. "Resume normal functions. Priority A-3 emergency still in progress. Override functions in place. Security level five to remain engaged."

"Understood, Ray. Welcome home." 

The refined feminine voice of the ship's automated neural net surprised Bodie; it sounded far more human than any he'd heard on freighters or space fighters. But then, it suited the ship's exterior perfectly.

"Query: shall I institute security protocols to deactivate Cyborg W3A7P?" 

Bodie froze, his eyes meeting the green optivisor, and seeing a flash of startled guilt on his companion's face.

_I was right, it is a fucking trap._

He raised the carbine slightly, sweeping a desperate glance around the entry area. At this level in the ship, even a blast from a prism carbine wouldn't do enough damage to shut its systems down. The only way he could think of defend himself against the ship was to threaten R4A5Y, and he wasn't sure even that would be enough. As he swung toward R4A5Y, the 'borg reached out and casually pushed the carbine's barrel slightly to one side.

"No," he said calmly. The green-flecked optivisor made his expression difficult to read, but it certainly held no fear. "Ann, this is Bodie. He'll be our guest for a while. I'm authorizing him full access to the ship, secondary only to me. We'll get a com and access codes sorted for him once I've had him up in medbay."

Bodie gave the carbine's barrel a slight jerk, but R4A5Y held it steady without a flinch.

"Ray!" There was no mistaking the shock in the ANN's voice. "Access to me?"

R4A5Y's gaze held Bodie's steadily. "Yes."

"Query: is the Controller aware of this?"

"No," R4A5Y repeated. "And the communications ban is still in effect."

"This is very unwise, Ray. Controller Cowley will institute disciplinary actions."

"Maybe." R4A5Y shrugged. "I'll deal with him when I have to." He turned his attention back to Bodie. "I'm on the level, mate." Outwardly still calm, but he couldn't hide a racing heartbeat from Bodie's sensors. With a slight quirk of his mouth, he dropped his hand from the carbine's barrel. "Your move."

Bodie slowly lowered the weapon. "If this is a trap—"

"It's not. C'mon, up to medbay. Let's get you sorted."

As Bodie approached the swirling blue and green microbead ladder, its movement slowed perceptibly.

##Alert##, his systems whispered.

_Don't need to tell me that._

"Your ANN doesn't seem very pleased to see me. How do I know she won't drop me, save you both a lot of trouble?"

"Because I'm right behind you," R4A5Y replied, and placed his right hand into the stream.

Bodie shrugged, and did the same. The ladder whisked them smoothly upward one level, and deposited them on a landing in what had to be the ship's living area.

"My quarters there, social area over there, medbay here," R4A5Y gestured. "I'll check you out and then Ann can reconfigure your nanites."

"No." Bodie's voice was utterly uncompromising, and his hand tightened reflexively on the carbine. There was no way he would allow his systems to be mucked around by the ANN that spoke so casually of deactivating him. 

"Nanite reconfiguration will be required in 3428 seconds," the ANN said. Bodie wasn't sure if his imagination was supplying a tone of spiteful satisfaction to her voice. "You are operating at less than 70 percent efficiency, and repairing your injuries will make a substantial drain on your systems. Your integration levels cannot be maintained."

Bodie smiled tightly. "According to my systems, my integration levels are holding at close to ninety percent."

There was a moment of silence, then ANN said, "Your system installation was never properly completed. Any data you receive may be statistically unreliable."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I'd rather trust my own systems than one whose first reaction was to deactivate me."

"If you don't get reconfigured, you'll deactivate anyway," R4A5Y said sharply. "Once enough of your nanites have decompensated, you won't be able to stay on-line."

"I'll take my chances."

R4A5Y raised his face toward the ceiling. "Look, you stubborn bastard, this isn't something we have any choice about. Didn't anybody tell you about the way your systems work?"

Bodie raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Before or after I was illegally 'borged and kidnapped?" 

For a moment R4A5Y looked murderously outraged. Then he visibly deflated.

"Okay. We'll do it your way. Sooner or later, you'll start to feel the effects of decompensation. When it starts, for christ's sake don't be a hero. Let us know, and we'll get reconfiguration going for you."

Bodie nodded noncommittally. "See how we go."

"Right then." R4A5Y folded open a compartment to reveal a medical station that made Bodie's eyes widen. "Sit up here."

"You must live dangerously." Bodie swung himself onto the padded bench and lay back. "You need to use this often?"

"Often enough."

R4A5Y plugged a scanner into a jack on his wrist and ran it over Bodie's torso. He snarled something under his breath as he moved the scanner lower, down one leg and up the other. His optivisor followed the motion, and Bodie could see tiny flickers in the green that had to be the data feed from the scanner.

Why it should be that little detail that overwhelmed him, Bodie could never make out. 

_I can see a fucking data stream,_ he thought. 

_I'm really not human any more._

The knowledge hit him like a blast of ions from a supernova. He was vaguely aware of his systems fighting to stabilize his breathing and tamp down the flood of stress hormones, but this time they lost the battle. Something very dark crept up around the side of his vision and swallowed him whole.

Coming back on line was painful. He hurt, not the savage acute pain of recent torture, but an overall dull throb. It felt as if he were bruised to the bone, both in the fleshware and the cyborg parts. Exhaustion weighed him down like lead. If he had to get up and fight right now, Bodie wasn't sure he'd make it to his feet.

He forced his eyes open to see R4A5Y hovering over him, a worried expression on his face.

"What did you do to me?" It came out as a feeble croak.

"Your systems shut you down. You were hyperventilating and dumping stress chemicals so hard it was affecting _my_ functions."

"Panic," Bodie said grimly.

"Yeah, well, I'd say you've earned it. And at least you waited until we were safely aboard before you threw a wobbly."

"This time." There was no excuse for it, he thought bleakly. He'd had plenty of time to get used to what Rahad had done to him; fainting like a sickly heroine in an old-fashioned horror holo wasn't going to up the odds of long-term survival. 

R4A5Y turned away, his optivisor focusing on the medbay wall. "According to the scans I've taken, Rahad has had you for close to two months. Your systems let me access some of what was done to you, and I haven't got the stomach for the rest. You're still sane and still functional. If you need downtime, take it. There's no shame in that."

On the heels of R4A5Y's impassioned words, Bodie's systems added an image of two thumbs raised in the air.

"Enough out of you," he murmured. "You shouldn't be telling my secrets to strange men."

"Huh?"

"My 'borg bits." He grimaced and rubbed his eyes, trying to make himself feel more alert. "They talk to me."

"External system input?" R4A5Y looked disconcerted. 

It didn't take a cybernetics expert to figure out that wasn't normal. "How bad off am I?"

R4A5Y disconnected the scanner and set it aside. "Do you want the good news, the bad news or the worst news?"

"You mean there's _some_ good news?" Bodie asked. 

"Two pieces, actually." R4A5Y grinned down at him, revealing a slightly chipped tooth. "What's left of your fleshware is reasonably healthy. Bones, nerves, musculature—what's there is pretty well intact. And considering you were clinically dead, your brain function is in fantastic shape despite having no neural augmentation at all.

"The bad news is that the arseholes who 'borged you did a butcher job. Like I said, the fleshware's all right, and the electronics are up to spec, but the connections are a mess." He sighed. "The worst news is that your systems have adapted to the damage and compensated."

"That's good, isn't it? It was a struggle to pull it together at first, but we seem to have got each other's measure by now."

"It's kept you going. But it's like your systems have to try to push water uphill all the time. It's taking too much energy and slowing down your reflexes by orders of magnitude. The only way to completely repair the damage is to deactivate you and start from scratch." 

##No!## 

His systems' panicked rejection of the idea dovetailed completely with Bodie's own reaction. 

"This is what I am now, good or ill," he ground out. "You lay a hand on us and I'll kill you."

R4A5Y must have read the sheer murder on his face. He raised both hands. "I'm not even going to try. I can't figure out what kind of a work-around your systems are doing, but for now you seem to be functioning, and even with that little manly faint, your integration levels are holding rock steady."

"I mean it," Bodie said. "Maybe I'm not up to scratch yet, but these systems and I survived Rahad together. They pulled me through, and I'm not going to let myself be dismantled. All I need is some food and rest, and I'll be hitting a hundred percent before you know it." Bodie wasn't sure that was entirely true, but neither would hurt. 

##Rest,## his systems added, supplying an image of cozy duvets and fat pillows.

"Right, then. Rest." R4A5Y flipped open another cabinet and pulled out several blankets, which he tossed in Bodie's direction. They weren't the luxurious coverings his systems had imagined, but there was enough soft warm flannel there to keep him comfortable. 

R4A5Y turned at the medbay door. "Lights on or off?"

"Off," Bodie said firmly. 

In the quiet and dark, Bodie tucked the blankets around himself. The padded bench wasn't a real bed, but it was the most comfortable thing he'd been on in . . . had R4A5Y said two months? 

Bodie shivered, and pulled the blankets a little closer.

##Rest,## his systems said again. The image they projected was of R4A5Y sitting cross-legged in the corridor outside the medbay door, his electron prism gun resting on one knee. Somehow, Bodie got the feeling this wasn't a merely a comforting idea, but an actual picture.

Watchman? Or jailor?

His 'borg bits had no answer to that.

B&D&B&D&B&D

When he woke, Bodie felt so much better that he stayed still just savouring it for a moment. He was warm, and comfortable, and while his organic components still felt bruised and sore, he was healing, and a damn sight faster than he would have done as an unaugmented human. His 'borg bits were humming away contentedly with what he could only interpret as smug achievement.

##Integration levels 95.3 percent and holding.## Following that came a swift picture of food, a table groaning under far more than even Bodie could manage at one sitting, followed by a hope-filled image of a monitor with its indicator rising toward 100.

"Think we can pull that off? Even if we aren't wired up right?"

The monitor's indicator nudged up over 100.

"We'll show 'em all?"

##Emphatic agreement.##

Bodie nodded, feeling himself start to grin. "Don't you worry. We're in this together, and no know-it-all ANN is going to split us up."

There were some clothes on the counter that hadn't been there earlier, and Bodie shook out a plain black coverall and insulated slippers. The suit even had a short left sleeve that ended just above the implant plate on the base of the stump. He felt a surge of gratitude that R4A5Y had had the forethought to print out something without a flapping impediment to remind him of what he'd lost.

He stowed the blankets and folded away the bench he'd slept on before venturing out onto the landing. There was no sign of R4A5Y anywhere, so Bodie hooked into the microbead ladder and let it carry him up another level.

R4A5Y was in the pilot's chair, hands busy with some schematics up on the holoframe. Bodie barely noticed him. The flight deck was a pilot's dream, beautifully set up for a single operator. Bodie looked over the control panels and gave a whistle of appreciation.

"Quite the little ship you've got here." 

"ANN7380973." There was an unmistakable note of affectionate pride in R4A5Y's voice. "How're you feeling?"

"Good." Bodie was pretty sure the ship's ANN could give R4A5Y a detailed run-down of his condition at any time, but he wasn't going to admit to anything where she might hear. 

He turned back to the controls, not having to feign enthusiasm. "Looks like she's got speed." Bodie gave the engine controls a professional assessment. "Escort class?"

"Cortina," R4A5Y replied. "We don't carry armament. My prime function is investigation, not space battles."

"Do a lot of undercover?" Bodie couldn't help the innuendo, and felt a little quirk of pleasure at the faint pink touching R4A5Y's cheeks.

"Some." R4A5Y smiled slightly, and tapped his optivisor. "This limits the roles I can take on."

"So what's the story? Why am I on Murani Station? And how did CI5 find me?" No point in beating around the bush, Bodie thought. Better to find out exactly what his too-good-to-be-true rescue was really going to cost him.

"How about we get you fed while I talk?" R4A5Y rose from the pilot's seat and led the way back to the ladder. "We've got a first-class printer, can do you practically anything you fancy."

His stomach growled, and R4A5Y twitched a smile. "Just as well we're well supplied."

R4A5Y was right about the quality of the printer. Within minutes, Bodie was digging into a large plate of spicy lamb curry and rice, the first solid meal he could remember having since before the disastrous mission that had started this whole mess. Across from him, R4A5Y was picking at a smaller portion.

"So what's the story, sunshine?" Bodie picked up the glass of pineapple lassi that had come with the curry, and shot R4A5Y an expectant look.

R4A5Y ran a hand through his tangled curls. A mix of auburn and brown, Bodie noted, with just a hint of grey at the sides. He wondered what it would feel like to touch those curls—would his artificial hand provide the same sensations of texture?

##Affirmative,## his systems noted. ##Integration levels holding at 97.2 percent.##

"Right, then. I'm on Murani Station for a big peace conference going on between Albion and Awaräe, and . . . what?" R4A5Y broke off. 

Bodie shrugged. "I was working for Albion. Doing a little unauthorized border skirmishing when—" he gestured down at his torso.

"A mercenary? Lovely."

"Saved the Albion boys getting their hands dirty," Bodie retorted, stung by the touch of scorn in R4A5Y's voice. "Plausible deniability and all."

"Fucking politics." The scorn was even deeper. "Anyway, I told you, I'm part of CI5. Cowley is handling the security arrangements for Harbinger, the negotiator from United Earth. I'm the primary bodyguard. Just as well, somebody's already had a go at him."

"Ramos?" Bodie blurted before he could catch himself.

R4A5Y turned on him fiercely. "How do you know about Ramos?"

"I saw him. I got loose once—don't know how long ago—and I saw him creeping through the corridors not far from Rahad's quarters."

"Rahad's quarters?" Bodie could have sworn the green of the optivisor intensified. "What did you see? Did he meet anyone? Talk to anyone?"

Bodie shook his head. "Don't know. I was hiding in a cupboard hoping to hell he wouldn't spot me. I didn't care where he went or what he did as long as he didn't see me."

"Damn!" R4A5Y thumped his fist on the table. "If there were some way to tie Ramos and Rahad together, it would solve both of our problems, wouldn't it?"

"So CI5 being aboard Murani has nothing to do with me?"

"Didn't have a clue you were aboard until I picked up your nanite trace. Even then, Cowley ordered me to leave it alone, that my only business was keeping Harbinger in one piece."

Bodie looked steadfastly at his plate to avoid having to watch R4A5Y's face. "Cowley knows about me?"

"When I first caught the trace, I thought you might be part of the assassination plot. I had to report it." R4A5Y sounded almost apologetic. 

"Looks like the inevitable's only been postponed." Bodie set down his fork. "CI5 has zero tolerance for stray cyborgs."

"Bugger that!" R4A5Y exploded. "You can put Ramos in with Rahad. Not as close as I'd like, but it has to be worth something. Cowley's hard but he's fair."

"Fair when it comes to humans isn't the same as fair when it comes to 'borgs," Bodie said. "But you already know that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What's your real name?"

R4A5Y went very still, his mouth pinched so tightly that his lips nearly vanished. 

"Cyborg designations are not intended as personal identifiers," the ANN's voice said. "Your insistence on attempting to maintain such an identifier is a sign of your malfunctioning integration, W3A7P."

"My systems say, fuck you," Bodie replied sweetly.

"Leave it," R4A5Y said sharply. But he couldn't meet Bodie's eyes across the table.

Before Bodie could say anything else, there was the sound of a com attempting to engage.

"Shit!" R4A5Y looked up. "Who is it, Ann?"

"Controller Cowley. If I maintain the communication override, the Controller will suspect that you are hiding something. He may even engage the station systems to immobilize me."

R4A5Y cursed softly, and looked across the table. "Will you trust me?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? According to him, R4A5Y had broken CI5 rules to rescue him, gone against Cowley's direct orders. But he'd bought into the CI5 mentality to the point where he wouldn't even admit to having a true name. If push came to shove, and Bodie had no doubt Cowley could shove very hard, which way would R4A5Y actually go?

Still, there wasn't much choice. He was still aboard a locked-down space station, and only a scruffy-haired cyborg stood between him and deactivation.

Bodie nodded. 

"Open communications, Ann," R4A5Y said.

A holoframe appeared beside the table, holding the image of a sturdy older male human with thinning reddish-blond hair. His fair skin was slightly flushed, and his mouth set in a grim line. He took one look at Bodie and slapped his hand down on some surface beside him in irritation.

"I might have known," he snapped. "I gave you direct orders, did I not, R4A5Y? Stay out of it, I said. This is not your concern, I said. Did you listen to me? Och, no. And now there's a diplomatic incident underway that may derail the entire conference."

R4A5Y straightened up. "Rahad's never mad enough to admit what he was doing?" he exclaimed, disbelief colouring his voice. "Diplomatic immunity or not, he couldn't admit to owning an illegal cyborg, not after all the fuss he's made about me!"

"No, Ambassador Rahad has a bit more sense than that, though I'd say it's a near thing. He came storming back to the reception last night about half an hour after he left, throwing out accusations that someone had broken into his quarters and stolen something of his."

"That must have been interesting," Bodie remarked. "How did he describe this 'something'?"

Cowley gave a wintery smile. "He didn't. Luckily for him one of his bodyguards stepped up and claimed it was family mementos of some kind, nothing of real value. Pity the man thought so quickly; Rahad was certainly in no state to.

"Then the ambassador shifted gears, claimed his main concern was the invasion of his privacy and the breach in station security."

"He does have a point," Bodie said. "Torture of an illegal cyborg can't be all he's hiding."

"And you." Bodie suddenly found himself pinned by gimlet-sharp blue eyes. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Would anything I say make a difference?" 

Cowley's mouth quirked slightly. "Don't take that tone with me, laddie. I've been dealing with cyborgs since before you were a twinkle in your parents' eyes. Who are you, and how did Rahad get hold of you?"

"The name's Bodie, sir." The 'sir' slipped out against his will, and Bodie caught a slight flash of surprise in Cowley's eyes. "I'm a fighter pilot. I was doing some mercenary work on the Albion border and got killed in a dogfight. I don't know where I was 'borged. Rahad had bought me, but he killed the techs who did the job when one of them found out who he was. He's been . . . amusing himself with me ever since."

"Rahad killed human techs?" Cowley's eyes hardened.

"Gave the orders, any rate." Bodie turned inward to his systems, and got a somewhat ambiguous response. "I was there; I might be able to show you if I find a compatible holosystem." At Cowley's questioning look, he added, "My 'borg bits and I are still getting used to each other."

"See what you can do. If I'm going to accuse Rahad of actual murder I need to make it stick."

"What are you going to do?" R4A5Y demanded. "About Bodie, I mean."

"What I should do is have your ANN immobilize the pair of you, and hand you both over to Ambassador Rahad on a silver platter." 

R4A5Y leaped up with an inarticulate sound of fury. Bodie remained seated, focused on keeping his face expressionless and his stance relaxed. Cowley was playing a game here, and he was willing to see wait and see what the real stakes were.

"That is what I _should_ do. However, after Ambassador Rahad's _faux pas_ last night, another public embarrassment would derail the talks entirely. The Awaräe desperately need to save face. It's only because Dr. Harbinger has established a good rapport with Dignitary Tennar that Rahad wasn't packed off on the first available ship. 

"So, you two will consider yourselves under arrest and confined to the ship until further notice. Once the talks are safely concluded, I'll decide how to deal with you."

"And what about Ramos?" R4A5Y said furiously. "Who's going to protect Harbinger while I'm locked up?"

"Murphy and I will take care of Dr. Harbinger for now, and I've called for reinforcements. We haven't seen hide nor hair of Ramos since his attack, and the station people think he escaped and made a get-away."

"But you don't." Bodie was sure Cowley was the type who wouldn't consider the matter settled until Ramos was under his personal guard.

"No. No, Ramos has a reputation to uphold. He canna afford to fail, not on something this big."

"We can give him to you," R4A5Y said.

Bodie's head snapped around. R4A5Y had settled back in his chair, looking straight at Cowley, as calm and relaxed as if they were all discussing the weather. Only a 'borg system could have seen the tension in the back of his neck, heard the stress in his voice.

He's damn good, Bodie thought. Bet he's brilliant under cover.

"Can you now?" Cowley's voice went silky smooth. "Can you indeed?" 

Bodie wasn't fooled by the gentle tone. Cowley was calling R4A5Y's bluff with a vengeance.

"Yes, we can. Bodie saw him in the Awaräe quarters. Where else on the station is shielded from sensor scans, specifically at Rahad's request? What if that shielding wasn't just to hide Bodie, but to hide Ramos too?"

"Do you have any proof of that?" Cowley demanded, turning his eyes to Bodie.

"No, sir. I did see him, but I had other things on my mind. He was wearing a personal scrambler and carrying a sonic, that's all I saw."

"Things that R4A5Y could have told you to bolster this claim." Cowley shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that."

"R4A5Y's right. We can get Ramos." Bodie spoke evenly, though inwardly he was thrumming with tension as much as R4A5Y. "We can set a trap."

"United Earth might have objections to using Harbinger as bait."

"Not Harbinger, sir," R4A5Y took up the argument as if they'd planned it. "You."

"Explain."

"I've been doing a bit of thinking. I'd say you've been the target all along, not Harbinger. Why would Rahad want Harbinger dead? Despite all the sabre rattling, Albion and Awaräe do want to work out a deal. Killing Harbinger gains Awaräe nothing."

Cowley nodded. "Plausible. Go on."

"I'd need analyse all the data on trajectories to be sure, but who was the only other person standing in sonic reach?" He pointed at Cowley. "If I hadn't been right there with Harbinger, he'd have had you."

"But the same argument applies to me as to Harbinger. What would Awaräe gain by killing me? Och, I'll grant you CI5 has a reputation in security, but killing me wouldn't kill the organization. And it certainly wouldn't make any difference to the peace talks. Albion wouldn't risk breaking those off unless they had absolute proof my death was official Awaräe policy."

"The peace talks don't have any more to do with it than Harbinger does," Bodie said. "Rahad's a radical Humanist. What if the whole point isn't about you as a security specialist but about you as head of CI5? Cyborg Institute Five? What if this is his way to strike a blow against the influence of abominations like me?"

"You think he's that deranged on the subject of cyborgs?"

"Oh, yeah," Bodie said fervently.

Cowley went silent, tapping his datavisor against his hand. Bodie dared to look at R4A5Y and saw a tiny nod, a hint of an approving grin. They'd got Cowley to listen, at least.

"I'll contact HQ," Cowley said at last. "See if there's any information on Rahad's Humanist contacts that might support this. In the meantime, you two are still confined to the ship. If, and I stress, _if_ there's anything to corroborate your allegations, we'll talk again."

"For God's sake, let us help! If Ramos is colluding with Rahad, Murphy can't protect both you and Harbinger." R4A5Y rose to his feet, optivisor a slash of green fire across his face. 

Cowley's eyes flicked from R4A5Y to Bodie. "And once you're out, what will you do?"

"If there's a chance to give Rahad a taste of his own medicine, you can count me in for the kill," Bodie said.

Cowley nodded. "I'll contact HQ. You're on stand-by, R4A5Y. Be ready to move on my orders."

"Sir—"

He was speaking to empty space as Cowley's image winked out.

R4A5Y rounded on him. "What kind of a daft idea was that?"

"It was your idea!" Bodie protested. "I thought you'd appreciate the back-up."

"I did, until you tried to talk Cowley into a death trap."

"You actually think he'll set himself up as bait?"

"CI5 is Cowley's baby. If he thinks it's under threat, he'll do whatever needs doing. But why would you care?"

"It makes sense," Bodie said. "Rahad doesn't have any reason to want Harbinger dead. Cowley, on the other hand—" He smiled grimly. "Besides, it just might get me off this station in one piece." 

"Who is it _you_ want dead most: Rahad or Cowley?" R4A5Y snarled.

Bodie faltered for a moment. "I've got nothing against Cowley. If your lot had picked me up first, I wouldn't mind taking orders from him.

"Look, if I'm right, the faster this gets settled, the better. I'd say Cowley knows the risks. Set out a tethered goat, there's a no better way to catch a tiger."

"Or lose a good goat," R4A5Y said harshly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Is anybody out there gonna take your hand?_  
Hold you close, try to help you understand?  
There's a future to this life 

With nothing to do but kill time, R4A5Y found himself seething with impatience and had to consciously tamp it down. The most difficult part of an operation, he'd discovered long ago, was not the danger but the waiting. Those long periods of time when he had to be constantly on the alert for something that might never happen put far greater strain on him than the toughest hand-to-hand combat.

Bodie had returned to his interrupted meal, forking in cold curry as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. When he noticed him scraping the plate, R4A5Y recognized that was probably true, and felt a stab of guilt.

"Help yourself, if you want more." He gestured in the direction of the printer. "Ann always keeps the supplies well stocked."

"Thanks." 

Bodie printed himself another plate of curry, this time with a glass of beer, and then a bowl of something hot that smelled of chocolate and cherries. If the wait was a strain on him, his appetite certainly didn't show it.

"Can your systems handle the alcohol?" R4A5Y asked.

Bodie took on the slightly abstracted expression that meant he was communicating with his cybernetic system, something that R4A5Ystill found unsettling.

"They say they can handle a glass, but would prefer I not get pissed as a newt. They also think I like chocolate too much."

"I don't get it," R4A5Y said. "How do you function if you have to consciously communicate with your systems all the time?"

"I don't _have_ to. We've got close to complete integration. I just . . . got used to it, down there." His vague gesture took in an area that R4A5Y assumed meant Murani Station. "At first, it was the only way to get information, and I—"

He stopped abruptly, but R4A5Y could guess what wasn't being said. 

To give himself something to focus on, R4A5Y took his toolkit from one of the storage lockers and unrolled it on the floor in front of the holoframe control panel, and spread a tag-mat beside it. He settled cross-legged by his equipment and opened up the panel. Without an engineering certificate he wasn't strictly qualified to do ship repairs, but he'd always enjoyed taking and apart and rebuilding anything mechanical or cybernetic. Taking care of ANN, making sure she was in first-rate shape, wasn't a chore.

For a while he lost himself in the delicate mechanism, becoming aware of Bodie again only when he noticed him making another trip to the printer.

"That how you pass the time here?" Bodie was looking at the neat piles of components spread out on the tag-mat

"Helps take my mind off the waiting. Doesn't it bother you?" R4A5Y asked.

"Waiting?" Bodie shrugged. "You get used to it in combat. Ninety-five percent boredom and three percent adrenaline rush."

"What's the other two percent?"

"Pissing yourself with fright." Bodie laughed. "Think you'd be used to it too, working for CI5. That can't be all beer and skittles, from what I hear."

"Yeah, I'm used to it. Don't like it, though. I want to get things done."

"Eat, rest and use the bog when you've got the chance, because you might not get another for a long time." With that philosophy, Bodie dug into his second dessert.

R4A5Y couldn't help a smile. There were worse approaches to life. 

"Okay if I use your printer again?"

"Thirds on dessert?" R4A5Y gave him a disapproving look. "Your systems are right about the chocolate, you know."

"No, I want to print myself some gear." He tugged at the coverall. "If we get the chance to go after Rahad, I'm going to need to a custom gearsuit. And guns."

"Help yourself. Just signal for a fill-up when the 'low supply' light goes yellow."

He watched with interest as Bodie began pulling up schematics on the screen.

"What are you making?"

Bodie raised the stump of his left arm. "Don't know what Rahad had in mind for this." R4A5Y could see the small shudder that ran through him. "But it's perfect as a weapons platform." He pointed at the screen, where a miniature holo of an electron prism gun slowly rotated. I think I can modify something like this to build right on."

"Why weapons? That printer has enough resolution to run a standard carbon fibre arm. Could even give you a polymer cover that might pass as fleshware."

Bodie flexed and turned his other arm, looking at it critically. "Why bother? It's not like anyone who pays any attention won't know I'm a cyborg. With a built-in weapons attachment I'll be able to respond in a fraction of the time it would take for even an augmented hand to reach a weapon."

"Be tough to disguise something like that. It's hard enough to camouflage the standard gear."

"The point isn't to disguise it. If you're a walking arsenal, might as well look like it." 

R4A5Y gave him a bleak look. "You don't know much about how people treat cyborgs, do you?"

The look he got in return should have blown his optivisor. 

"Look, sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. But I'm not talking about perverts like Rahad." R4A5Y leaned his elbows on his knees and spoke earnestly. "I'm taking about ordinary people. The people who call you 'it', instead of 'he', and don't even realize they're doing it. The people who ask how much it cost to keep you alive, or give lectures on what else could have been done with that money, like you can't even hear what they say. The people who wonder behind your back if you're dangerous, or what it would be like to screw you.

"And that's somebody like me, who can almost pass for normal in a suit of clothes. You walk around like a weapons platform on legs, and you'll be lucky you don't get deactivated."

Bodie didn't reply. He made an adjustment at the printer, examined the result from several angles, and deleted it. "So what's your name?" he said casually.

R4A5Y stiffened, microspanner dropping from his hand unheeded. "I've told you, cyborgs don't keep their names. I shouldn't be letting you think you've got a choice." His tone softened. "Look mate, you're not human any more. And you never will be again. If you don't face that, you're never going to have a chance at a life."

"I've had to make my own chances in life. And mostly, they've turned out better than what other people tried to plan for me. I don't think letting CI bloody Five decide what I can call myself would be an exception."

"It's not that simple."

"Okay then, let's try this: what _was_ your name?" Bodie looked at him. "Or don't they let you talk about that either?"

"I—" R4A5Y broke off. It was still in there, wasn't it? He'd remembered it during his last reconfiguration; what would be harm of saying it out loud?

"W3A7P, this is not productive," Ann spoke for the first time in hours. "Badgering R4A5Y to circumvent cyborg protocols will cause functional impairment."

"Saying his name will interfere with his functions?" There was no mistaking the hostility in Bodie's voice.

"For many cyborgs, the associated trauma causes unacceptable levels of stress. CI5 has determined that subsequent impaired functionality is not efficient."

"So why doesn't it bother me?"

"You are an unauthorized product. Your entire functional systems are corrupted."

Bodie laughed, a hard unpleasant sound. "You know, you sound quite a bit like Rahad, Annie."

R4A5Y put his hands over his face, let the voices roll over him. 

_I'm a machine. Why would I need a name?_

_And doesn't that sound like Rahad too?_

R4A5Y raised his head. "My name is—"

"Ray, do not do this!" ANN broke in. "You're primary obligation is to maintain optimum functionality."

"C'mon, mate." Bodie nodded encouragingly. "Say it." His face suddenly went iron-hard, and he looked upward. "Annie, my 'borg bits don't like you. Try that again, and you'll find out how much."

"What?" R4A5Y surged to his feet, tools scattering around his feet. " Ann, what are you doing?"

"There is a threat to your optimum functionality. It must be countered."

"She thought she could sneak some phishware in and overwrite some of my control systems." Bodie's voice was like ice. "Lucky my 'borg bits are loyal to me and not CI5."

R4A5Y found his hands clenched so tightly his fingers ached. He took a deep breath, steadied himself. "Don't do that again, ANN7380973. Please. Don't make me take you off-line."

"Yes, Ray."

"So," Bodie said as if nothing had happened, "how about you tell me your name?"

_Do it. Don't think about it, just do it!_

"Doyle," he gasped. "Ray Doyle."

Both of them froze, for a second, as if expecting some kind of retribution. When nothing happened, R4A5Y felt a grin break out on his face, so wide that it nearly hurt.

"Doyle," he repeated almost reverently. 

"There you go, sunshine." Bodie turned away from the printer and lightly ruffled his hair.

"I haven't said that aloud since after the surgery." Doyle felt a deep sense of loss and grief, as if a wound he'd forgotten had started to bleed again. "They told me to let it all go; said everybody else would, too. Said it was better just to start fresh."

Bodie swore. "And Cowley thinks I'll roll over for CI5. Not bloody likely."

Doyle knelt and began to sweep the scattered tools and components together onto the tag-mat. "How will we get you reconfigured? I'm—" he hesitated, unwilling to say the words. "I'm not sure we can trust Ann with your systems."

"Too bloody right." Bodie slid down to sit beside him, putting his hand over Doyle's and holding them still. "You scanned me when you first brought me in, up in medbay. How long have I been 'borged?"

"Going on two months."

"Closer to three. Do you know how many times I've had my nanites reconfigured?" Doyle shook his head. "None. Not once."

Doyle shook his head again. "Not possible. Everybody knows—"

"Bullshit. Rahad didn't have an ANN, and I'm not sure he'd have bothered to have me checked over if he did. But the point is, _I didn't need it_. Do I look as if my systems are deteriorating?" 

"But—"

"Check my integration levels. Go on. 98.3 percent and holding. And that's well after your ANN said I'd be incapacitated. 

"It's a lie, Doyle. It's all a fucking lie."

"Why would Alpha Control lie?" Doyle demanded. "Why would they waste all that time and energy on reconfiguration if it isn't necessary?"

"You said the magic word, sunshine. Control. If you didn't have to come back every three days, regular as clockwork, why would you come back at all?"

"But . . ." Doyle's voice trailed off. "When I was first . . . on-line, I didn't believe it either. So they let me go without. In twenty-four hours I was a wreck. I thought they were going to just let me decompensate." He shrugged, shame-faced. "Scared the hell out of me."

Bodie nodded. "Um-hmm, and after that you were a good little 'borg and always reported in on time."

"Wouldn't you?" Doyle felt another unfamiliar rush of shame. Bodie probably wouldn't have.

"Don't!" Bodie snapped. "I'm not a fool, and I'm not suicidal. What I am is a 'borg job that wasn't done by CI5. Nobody bothered to condition me, or feed me a great pack of lies to make sure I toed the line. From the second I came on-line, I knew I couldn't trust the humans around me."

"So they faked it. That's what you're saying? They put me in that room and . . . "

"And did exactly what Rahad did to me. Only with a little more subtlety and probably a little less enjoyment."

"And Ann in on it right from the start. She'd have to be." Doyle felt ill. "What was she really doing to me all those times she claimed to be reconfiguring me?"

Bodie put his arm around Doyle, tugged him close. Doyle let his head drop, feeling cold and tired as if he'd been functioning for days without a break. Only an effort of will kept his teeth from chattering. Bodie was warm and solid, and the carbon fibre arm around him felt like the only honest thing in the galaxy. Whatever Bodie's motives were could wait for a few minutes while he got his head together.

"Ray, your scans indicate profound distress. Please allow me to help you."

Doyle shook his head without raising it from Bodie's shoulder. "Not now, Ann. Just leave us be for a while, okay? I'm not sure I want anybody messing with my systems right now."

"The information you have received is counter-productive. Readjustment of your primary processors would provide relief."

Doyle froze. "Readjustment?"

"Reconfiguration." The hesitation was barely noticeable.

"You said readjustment." Doyle felt a terrible sickness deep inside. He straightened up, bracing himself. "You don't make mistakes like that—what did you mean?"

"Let me guess," Bodie drawled. "This reconfiguration shit isn't just physical. You scrub his mind clear of impure thoughts, too, and download whatever you've had to cut away."

"Ann?"

"It is my primary responsibility to maintain optimal cyborg function."

"By any means necessary," Bodie said. "Isn't that right?"

Doyle struggled to his feet, shaking Bodie off when he tried to support him. "Ann?" he repeated numbly. "What have you been doing when you reconfigure me?"

"Your personality functions have been uploaded to the CI5 utility cloud. You can be restored if necessary during reconfiguration."

"You've been . . . _brainwashing_ me? While I thought you were taking care of me?" Doyle's voice rose to a shout.

"I am required to maintain optimal function. If you did not function at maximum efficiency, CI5 would take you away from me."

"How much of me is real?" Doyle choked out.

"Doyle," Bodie said, reaching out. 

Doyle twisted away from him, staring blindly at the ship's wall. "How much of me is real!"

ANN's voice was very quiet. "I have downloaded full or partial reconstruction seven times."

Doyle's knees gave out. He was vaguely aware of a shout from Bodie, and something that felt like a carbon-fibre clamp around his waist, and then everything became very cool and quiet and distant.

Alone.

There was no time or space, just a quiet and deep as infinity and nearly as cold. In that coolness, he felt something at the edges of his systems, a beckoning warmth and familiarity.

Ann, he thought, swept with gratitude. Ann will make everything all right again.

The warmth tapped at the edges of his systems, asking for entry, promising peace and acceptance. 

Everything would be all right. All that was necessary was a little adjustment here—

_I have downloaded full or partial reconstruction seven times._

With an effort so great he wasn't sure he could survive it, he slammed down his firewalls.

"Get the fuck out of my head!" he roared.

Cold, cold, silent depths, and then his optivisor flickered back on line, and the rest of his systems with it

"Doyle! Answer me!" Bodie was looking down at him, his expression somewhere between fury and concern. 

"Don't yell," Doyle muttered, trying to sit up. He realized he was lying in the medbay, and Bodie had scattered the scanner and supplies all over the counter. "I'll live."

"Could have fooled me. Did she try to overwrite you, too?" Bodie asked, anger licking through every word.

Doyle nodded.

"So what's your name?"

"Doyle," he replied without hesitation. " ANN7380973: Override code nine thirteen alpha epsilon. Enter standby mode immediately. Life support functions only until further notice."

"Will that be enough?" 

Doyle shrugged. "Won't know until something else happens." He shivered, and rubbed his hands along his arms. 

"I'll go print you some tea, and then you need some downtime, I think," Bodie said. "Downtime with only you in your head."

"What do we do now?" Doyle asked. "What happens with Cowley, with the mission . . . " His voice trailed away. 

"None of this changes the mission parameters really." Bodie began gathering up the medical supplies. "You want Ramos, I want Rahad. Unless it's _you_ who wants Cowley dead more than Ramos now?"

The question hung in the air between them.


	9. Chapter 9

_Now nothing gonna stop us_  
As the day follows the night.  
Right become wrong  
And left become right. 

Waiting was always the hardest part. 

Bodie had spent enough time cooped up in fighters anticipating the datarush of battle that he had learned patience the hard way. With Doyle tucked up in medbay, drowsing after a cup of tea well-laced with brandy—and Bodie had been very careful to firewall and secure the printer beforehand—Bodie went back to the living area and got to work. He cleared up the mess of tools and scattered bits of the holoscreen, sliding them all into a storage box and stowing them away. As he worked, he tuned in to his 'borg bits nattering away in the background. For once not having to deal with them in the midst of a life or death muddle of speed and pain gave him a chance to pay real attention to his new partners. 

The ship's ANN was right: some of the surgery on him had been slapdash, and the quality of the cyber work was no more than adequate. Combat surgery could be rough and ready, with the focus more on keeping the patient alive until better facilities were available, but what had been done to him smacked more of carelessness than haste. He wondered, not for the first time, if those techs had made a habit of second-rate work, knowing what they created wasn't meant to survive for long.

Yet despite all the disadvantages, his cyber systems had meshed with his fleshware with surprising precision. Forced to prove themselves under combat conditions from the moment of initialization, his new components had found ways around obstacles that might have sent other systems permanently off-line.

As he came to the conclusion that he was in fact damn lucky with what he had, a distinct sense of preening came across the connections.

_Yeah, yeah, and modest with it too, aren't you?_

Nevertheless he couldn't help a smug feeling of his own. Rahad had consistently underestimated him, and with any luck that would be his downfall.

Returning to the printer, he called up more menus and selected a gearsuit from the available options. He couldn't find a chameleon rig like Doyle's, but he was able to customize a short-sleeve option that would allow him to directly connect the suit to the implant plate if he wanted to.

"Will you be okay if I take a hit?" he asked, and just for a laugh tried to picture lightning striking a stick-figure man, complete with smoke coming out the ears.

The response was an almost audible snort, and his stick-figure man acquired a set of old-fashioned insulators.

He hit print.

Wearing a real gearsuit again, one tailored to fit exactly to every muscle and carbon fibre and implant jack, was almost as good as getting to fly. Once he had the tabs all sealed in place, his 'borg bits began to experiment with the connections, and he turned his attention once more to finding a prism gun attachment. By the time Doyle stumbled groggily over from the medbay, he'd printed and recycled two attempts, and was just fitting the third into place.

"How's it look?" He extended his arm, the gun already feeling like a natural extension of him body in a way the two previous ones had somehow just missed. 

"Bloody dangerous." Doyle came over and examined the gun, raising his eyebrows slightly at the extra built-in prism cache. He looked rumpled and coldly angry, which in Bodie's opinion was a huge improvement on his earlier state of shell-shocked dismay. 

"What's Cowley playing at?" Doyle flung himself into one of the seats and glared at the printer. "He's had long enough to bloody well fly back to HQ, let alone contact them!"

Bodie stretched. "Patience, my son. He's probably checking me out down to my great-great-grandfather's DNA."

"You?" Doyle looked astonished.

"Yes, me. I could be the trap, you know." As Doyle's look of astonishment grew, Bodie sat up. "Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind."

"Not since I broke into Rahad's room and saw you stretched out there like some virgin sacrifice. You do remember that you were bleeding? Actual human blood?"

Better than you, Bodie was tempted to say, but kept his mouth shut. He and Doyle had made progress he didn't want to jeopardize.

"Sorry," Doyle said after a moment. 

Bodie shrugged. "He is taking his sweet time, isn't he?"

Not two minutes later, Doyle looked up, suddenly on alert. "Speak of the devil." He waved his hand, and a miniature holoframe wavered into view in front of him.

Cowley looked as hard as ever, and there was a light in his eyes that Bodie recognized.

Battle was to be joined.

"You reported you were able to track Ramos by the absence of data from the area that his scrambler was blocking, that's correct?" Cowley said without preamble.

"Yes, sir," Doyle replied.

"Can you repeat that?" 

Doyle's smile was a terrible thing to see. "I don't know. It depends on whether I need to be reconfigured or not."

Cowley's expression hardened, but Bodie noted he was unable to completely mask his surprise.

"You sat here and read me a lecture on how cyborgs aren't slaves. Would you like me to refresh your memory, _Mr._ Cowley?" Doyle rose and leaned towards the hologram, eyes ablaze.

"I suppose you're to blame for this." Cowley looked at Bodie with resignation.

"No, old man, you don't lay it off on me. The ship's ANN tried to overwrite me because I asked his name!"

"This is not the time or the place to discuss CI5 protocols. When you have a free moment, download some of the history of the early days of cyborg creation. What Rahad did to you is a stroll in the park by comparison."

"So it's all for our own good?" Doyle sneered.

"Humans can be very cruel to what they fear or do not understand." Cowley suddenly looked weary and sad, an aging man shouldering a burden too heavy for any one person.

It was an expression Bodie had seen on the faces of former commanders—good ones, not spacer rats like Krivas. 

"Doyle," he said quietly.

"You think he should get away with it?" Doyle demanded.

"I think we should hear what's on offer. There _is_ an offer, sir?"

"Get me Ramos, and the pair of you are free and clear."

"Care to be a bit more specific on how free and how clear?" Bodie said.

"I'm not accustomed to bargaining with agents," Cowley snapped.

"So not very free and hardly clear." Bodie hid a smile of admiration as Doyle returned the volley without missing a beat.

"What are you two, some kind of a holovid act?" Cowley grimaced. "Get Ramos, and neither of you will be deactivated. I will see that some documentation is found to account for Master Bodie, and you'll be given a chance to form an A-squad team. Any more than that will be based on performance."

"Good enough?" Doyle shot Bodie a glance. 

"For now." Bodie didn't mention any doubts or caveats; he was as aware as Doyle of what Cowley had not promised.

"So: Ramos and his scrambler?" Cowley returned to his original question.

Doyle nodded. "Once I got the knack of filtering out data, it wasn't too bad. Problem is that if he turns it off, he's gone."

"We're going to provide him with an incentive to remain concealed. And in one place. 

"Dr. Harbinger, with the assistance of Delegate Tanaka and Ambassador Zhang, has persuaded everyone that we need a break, something to freshen us up, sharpen the reflexes. Sheikh Achmeia has arranged a null-g polo match in the recreation area, and quite a few of the younger delegates have signed up for one team or another. There's plenty of room for spectators, and Delegate Tanaka is organizing a betting pool."

Doyle split the holoframe, and brought up a miniature of the station specs. "No way will Ramos risk anything in a crowded public area like that. The scrambler doesn't stop people from actually seeing what's in front of them, you know."

Cowley smiled complacently. "Not if he's on the upper observation deck. Sheikh Achmeia will announce the area is closed off, but I'm sure an enterprising fellow like Ramos will be able to breach the security protocols."

"And we'll be waiting." Bodie grinned. "Ambush the ambusher."

"Exactly. If what I've seen in your files is accurate, Bodie, that should be right up your alley."

"Hang on." Doyle shot Bodie an angry look. "How do we keep the station from noticing Bodie?"

"Murphy will meet you in the docking bay. He'll set up a biotag for Bodie and add it to the station directory.

"Now on your bikes, the pair of you. You need to be in place up there before the station seals the observation deck."

The holo winked out. 

Bodie jumped up, rubbing his hand along the barrel of the prism gun. With every move it seemed to be more a part of him, and he felt a tingle of anticipation at the idea of using it on Rahad.

Doyle was staring into the middle distance, a pensive look on his face.

"Oy." Bodie nudged him lightly. "Second thoughts? You think he's lying?"

Doyle shook himself slightly. "Oh, I _know_ he's lying. I'm just not quite sure about what."

"Forewarned and all that." Bodie nudged him again. "Get yourself tooled up. We've got an assassin to catch."

When Doyle emerged a few minutes later, suited and armed, Bodie allowed his eyes to wander up and down over the lean frame with undisguised appreciation. The gearsuit made him look sleek as a hunting cat, all long legs and lean suppleness. Doyle noticed, and Bodie was shocked at the expression of sheer fury that crossed his face.

_So much for getting along so well._

"It's okay, Doyle. I'm not going to jump you," he said, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of his voice.

"They told me," Doyle said quietly and precisely, "that cyborgs couldn't have sex. Guess that was a lie too."

"Ray—" 

Doyle came over to him and raised a hand almost hesitantly to touch his cheek. "You know what the first thing was I thought about you? You were beautiful. I could see what that bastard had been doing to you, and all I could think was how beautiful you were."

Bodie put his arm around Doyle and tugged him close. "And you are the sexiest thing I've seen in a gearsuit."

"If we make it through this?"

"We're not getting out of bed for a week except to print more food," Bodie said firmly. 

He gave Doyle a light swat on the arse, and pushed him towards the ladder. "Let's move."

A tall dark-haired man who Doyle introduced as "Murph" met them in the docking bay. He handed Bodie a biotag, and gave Doyle a dubious look.

"You two sure you know what you're doing?" he said.

"I track him, we catch him." Doyle shrugged. "Home in time for tea."

"You coming with us?" Bodie asked.

"No, Cowley wants me with Harbinger" Murphy radiated unease and discomfort; Bodie didn't have to know him at all to recognize that.

_He works with 'borgs. It's got to be more than just seeing me._

"Good luck, then."

Murphy turned to go, and Doyle caught his arm. "You're heart rate's up, and I'm scanning higher than normal stress levels. What's up?"

Murphy wavered, and swore under his breath. "Watch yourselves," he blurted out. "Cowley's up to something."

Bodie glanced at Doyle, and saw the same look of disillusionment that he was sure he wore himself.

"When isn't he?" Doyle said wearily. "Thanks, Murph."

Watching the CI5 agent head down the corridor, Bodie felt a grim sense of fatalism. Murphy wouldn't have spoken if this was the normal type of need-to-know from the chain of command.

"Betrayal to the left of us, betrayal to the right of us," he said, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. He'd actually thought Cowley might be better than that.

He must have said the last bit aloud, because Doyle looked at him with another one of those disillusioned half-smiles. 

"We guessed that going in, didn't we?" 

There was no more to be said. 

It felt like the most natural thing he'd ever done to match his stride to Doyle's, to walk at his side down the corridors. They were both on high alert, and Bodie was ready to swear he could see the tiniest movement of Doyle's muscles, read every glance from that optivisor as if it were connected to his own visual centre.

##Reading Doyle at 100 percent efficiency.## His 'borg bits sounded complacent. ##Adding Doyle to personal assessment base.##

"The observation deck is two floors up," Doyle said, with that expression that meant he was accessing data. "We can take the lift up ahead, and then wait in one of the private booths. If Ramos has any brains, he'll do the same thing."

"Just a matter of who gets there first."

"Yeah. My money is on Ramos being there already."

Exiting the lift into the observation gallery, both of them kept their backs to the wall. Doyle scanned the area and shook his head.

"No data-blank up here. Looks like we've beaten him."

"Anybody else on this level?" Bodie made a quick sweep of the nearest booths, finding them all empty.

"Some security people down the corridors. Looks like Cowley's keeping them back a bit."

"Hope that doesn't look suspicious—" 

A flicker of movement near the other side of the gallery caught Bodie's eye. He turned.

Everything slowed, time turning to icy gelatinous sludge. In the door of a booth half-way down the gallery, Rahad stood, his face twisted with satisfaction. He held up the icon sheet, and smiled at Bodie.

Bodie's focus narrowed down to that smile, that piece of horror being flaunted in front of him so smugly. Rage boiled up in him, driving out all training, all sense. All he wanted was to get his hand around Rahad's throat and squeeze.

He was vaguely aware of Doyle's voice behind him, yelling, "Bodie! Stop!" It had no effect. He wasn't chained and helpless this time. Rahad was in sight, and nothing was going to stop him. 

##Anomalous readings! Caution!##

Not even the 'borg bits.

Bodie charged down the gallery, snarling with fury as Rahad stepped back out of sight. He skidded into the booth, only to see a flash of dark clothing out the other side. He kicked the door open, spotting another closing down the corridor.

##98 percent probability of a trap.##

He ignored the warning, hurling himself after Rahad, anger blinding him to the danger. As he kicked the next door in, his 'borg bits suddenly cut the gyro ap, sending him tumbling. At the same instant the beam of a prism gun whipped through the space where he'd been standing.

Instead of trying to catch himself, Bodie went with the fall, diving across the floor and slamming into a pair of legs. He wrenched with every ounce of augmented strength in his arms, bringing Rahad down on top of him. They struggled wildly for the prism gun, Rahad far stronger than Bodie would have suspected.

Bodie managed to flip Rahad over, putting all his weight on the other man. He squeezed Rahad's wrist ruthlessly, and with a scream he dropped the gun. Bodie hit him once, and again, feeling savage satisfaction at the wet crunching sound of his carbon fibre fist against flesh.

Rahad's body suddenly flickered like a malfunctioning holoscreen. Bodie shook his head, and raised his fist again.

Another flicker.

Lying underneath him was not Rahad, but Ramos.

"What the hell!" Bodie froze in shock, and in that moment Ramos nearly had him. The assassin reversed the hold, driving Bodie back against the floor with a grunt. A knife flashed down, and only the fact that Bodie's arm was carbon fibre and not flesh saved him from having his throat cut.

Ramos drew the knife back again, and then went very still.

"That's right, Ramos, don't move a muscle." Doyle's voice was cold and deadly as the prism gun pressed to the back of Ramos' head. "Drop the knife. Do it now, or I'll fry your brains right here."

"You can't kill me," Ramos said with a mocking smile. "I know too much."

"I don't care what you know. Drop it!"

Ramos tossed the knife to one side, the infuriating smile never leaving his face.

"You can't win," he said. "If you kill me, Cowley will never find out who hired me. If you take me prisoner, the people who support me will get me out."

"You've got a big mouth for a man on the wrong end of a prism gun," Bodie grated, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Ramos shrugged gracefully. "There will always be people who disapprove of the current systems. And those people will come to me. In the long run, you can't win."

"Harbinger's going to survive," Doyle said. "That's enough of a win for now."

"As much of a win as Cowley and his little tin men can get," Ramos said.

Bodie punched him, barely pulling back his strength enough to keep from snapping his neck. Ramos folded like a wet sack, and Bodie pushed him aside with a shudder.

"What was all this?" Bodie looked up at Doyle, bewildered. "I saw Rahad! I _had_ him, and then—" He leaned over, staring at the unconscious form beside him. "This is Ramos. Did I imagine it?" he said in horror. "Was I hallucinating?"

"No!" Doyle pulled him upright, shaking him slightly. "I saw Rahad too. It must be some kind of tech, maybe some variation on the chameleon suit."

Bodie ran his hand over his face, noticing it was trembling slightly. "A trap, and I ran right into it. He played me like a fucking violin."

"Not surprising," Doyle said. "He knew exactly what buttons to push. And how would he know that—"

"Unless Rahad told him," Bodie finished. "So we can tie Ramos to Rahad."

Doyle nodded, satisfied. "And I'm willing to bet Cowley can play them against each other, get them both to talk. We could trace a lot of Ramos' assassinations back eventually."

"Better wrap him up for Cowley then." Bodie nudged Ramos lightly with his toe. There was still a vicious undercurrent of adrenaline coursing through him that made him want to pound Ramos against the floor until the blood ran red. So close to Rahad, and so far—

##Fight another day.## 

"I'll ping Cowley," Doyle said.

"That won't be necessary." 

Bodie spun, prism gun already rising even as he registered the short affable-looking man in front of him wasn't carrying a weapon.

"No!" Doyle grabbed Bodie's arm. "That's Sheikh Achmeia. The one who's running this mess I'm supposed to be baby-sitting."

If the term 'babysitting' bothered Sheikh Achmeia, he showed no sign of it. "R4A5Y," he said, with a smile that held a great deal of relief. "I was getting worried about you. Your Mr. Cowley is on the war-path."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Doyle exploded. "You're supposed to be safely down in the viewing area."

Sheikh Achmeia's smile suddenly developed some teeth. "Mr. Cowley is not the only one capable of intricate plotting. And I was somewhat concerned by his attitude towards you two."

"I would've thought catching Ramos would buy a lot of forgiveness." Bodie let the barrel of the prism gun drop slightly, but he remained prepared to use it.

"Yes, well, I think Mr. Cowley expected Ramos to be delivered to _him_. I have my own plans for Ramos." The tone of voice made Bodie suspect those plans would be prolonged and painful.

"Sheikh Achmeia." Bodie could see the effort it too for Doyle to unclench his fists, and tried to look less menacing himself. "I don't want to hurt you—in fact, I'm not sure I _can_. But I'm not staying here to turn Bodie over to CI5 if Ramos isn't part of the package." 

"I don't understand. Mr. Bodie? Is that right? If he was illegally 'borged, he's the victim."

Doyle scrubbed his hands over his face. "'Borgs are legally considered machines. Ramos would be arrested, tried, sentenced. Bodie will be . . . deactivated."

"I see." Sheikh Achmeia nodded, as if something he had long suspected was finally confirmed. "Just as well I came prepared." He reached inside his jacket, then froze. "I have something for you. Please don't shoot."

"Only if it's a weapon, sir," Bodie said cheerily. 

"Not a weapon." From inside his jacket, Sheikh Achmeia drew two small discs and held them out to Doyle. "Miniature holo-projectors. Something very new from United Earth intelligence."

"What will they do?"

With a grin, Sheikh Achmeia made an adjustment to one of the discs, and suddenly vanished. In his place stood Ambassador Zhang. "Quite the thing, isn't it?" Even the voice was the ambassador's alto rumble.

"So that's what Ramos was using," Doyle said, looking the "ambassador" up and down carefully "Couldn't tell the difference, sir." 

Sheikh Achmeia turned the projector off again. "It won't fool the station's security system, of course. But it can confuse the human element long enough for you to make it to your ship."

"Why are you doing this, sir? It could cause a diplomatic incident between the Caliphate and Albion, if Cowley decided to press the issue."

"You saved the life of my honoured guest Dr. Harbinger. And at some risk—I may be only a civilian, but even I could tell whatever Ramos was using hurt you. I don't like the idea of someone with such courage and honour being 'deactivated'." His mouth twisted. "As things stand, I can't offer you asylum, not with Mr. Cowley right here on the station, but I can give you a chance to escape."

"Thank you." Bodie couldn't force any other words out.

"Dr. Harbinger and I both consider ourselves in your debt. If you can make it to United Earth, or to the Murani Caliphate, you'll be given sanctuary. My word on that."

Doyle reached out and took the two holoprojectors, passing one to Bodie. A second later, the elegant form of Delegate Tanaka was looking up at him, a very familiar look to startlingly green eyes.

"But what about the security—" Bodie began a protest.

Doyle elbowed him sharply in the side. "Shut up, Bodie," he said fondly. "You're sure you can manage Ramos, sir?"

"My security people are in the corridor. The moment you are out the door, we will take this terrorist into official custody."

"In that case, we'll be on our way. And thank you." Doyle gave Sheikh Achmeia a long look that conveyed something Bodie couldn't interpret, and then he turned and was racing away down the gallery.

Doyle could set a damn good pace when he wanted to, and Bodie found himself running along behind, leaping over the slideway without a pause as Doyle dodged around a corner and picked up speed. The disconnect between Delegate Tanaka's formal clothes and Doyle's running stride made Bodie choke with laughter

"What about the security systems?" Bodie shouted. "They'll track us."

"Not if the sheikh's done his job," Doyle shouted over his shoulder. "Keep up, sunshine!"

Bodie ran.

They pelted down the corridor toward the docking bay, and Doyle slapped his hand against the access hatch. The hatch didn't move. 

"Damn it," Doyle panted. "Station, we require access to docking bay 14-31."

"Unable to comply, Cyborg R4A5Y. Controller Cowley of CI5 has ordered Murani Station to freeze all docking bay access points."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged furious glances. 

"Can you ping Achmeia? Get him to override Cowley?" Bodie demanded.

"There's a difference between getting everybody to politely look past us and actually countermanding an order from CI5. I don't want to test if Achmeia's gratitude goes that far."

"What about pushing your ANN to do it?" 

"Ann's on stand-by. If I try to push it from out here, the station is bound to notice. Or the station can let us in, and Cowley can just get the ANN to open the airlocks on us."

"I'm not going back," Bodie said with utter finality. "I'll get my 'borg bits to blow me up before I let Rahad get his hands on me again."

"Don't talk like that!" Doyle said. He tugged at his curls, a look of intense concentration on his face. "There's one chance, but it's a long one, and I may well kill you doing it."

"I'm not going back," Bodie repeated. "Any chance is better than nothing."

"Come on, then," Doyle said, pulling Bodie after him.

"Where? We can't get down to the docking bay."

"We'll bypass the docking bay, get through the maintenance hatch and float over to ANN's emergency airlock."

"Hate to point it out, but that's vacuum out there. We can probably hold our breaths, but what do we do for protection suits?"

"Other way 'round." Doyle stopped at the maintenance hatch and began to dial the door open. "These gearsuits have limited vacuum integrity. Seal on your gloves, pull the head shielding completely over, and we should be able to make it. Just no oxygen supply—the spacers handle their own breathing apparatus." He tapped his deformed cheekbone. "That's where this comes in."

"You've got an implant?"

"Built in oxy-generator. With two of us, that's less than ten minutes' supply, but it should be enough."

"If it isn't, we won't make it anyway." Bodie caught him in a swift hard hug. "Always fancied snogging in a spacesuit."

Doyle's full-on grin was warming as sunshine.

The maintenance bay was no more than a bare box with an airlock at each end. While Bodie sealed the ship-side lock, Doyle booted up his oxy-generator, and set the ap for external production. 

"You ever done this before?" Bodie asked. Doyle looked focused and calm, but with the expression of someone mentally walking through the steps of a manoeuvre.

"Did it in training, but never in the field. You ever evac without lines?"

"It's all about the force and the angles, Doyle." Bodie forced a confident smile. "Once a pilot, always a pilot."

"In other words, you don't have a fucking clue." Doyle tapped the oxy-gen lightly. "Good to go."

Bodie unrolled the head covering of his suit and sealed his glove, watching while Doyle did the same. A quick consultation with the 'borg bits showed him how to seal the implant plate just above the gun.

"Right, then. Come here. I breathe, you steer." 

Doyle stepped into the circle of his arms, fitting there already as if they'd been partners for years. Bodie braced himself and lifted, gauging Doyle's mass, hoping he could compensate for it. Moving in low-grav was close to second nature, but usually he'd only done it with a partner in the safety of a sex suite. Out here—

The data flow was reassuring. The 'borg bits had already calculated and made allowances for extra mass.

A bright image of a small green leaf with four distinct lobes appeared in the data.

"Good luck to you too," he murmured.

Bodie adjusted the head coverings, sealing his to Doyle's suit, feeling Doyle do the same, both running their fingers along to ensure the seal was complete.

Bodie's right hand gripped the safety bar as Doyle opened the airlock, the 'borg bits automatically finding their joint centre of gravity. The outward rush of air pulled them both forward, only Bodie's grasp keeping them from tumbling into the void. Across Doyle's shoulder, Bodie could see a portion of the curving wall of Murani Station, and beyond it the endless dark of space, ablaze with stars. Directly ahead, the cream and red and gold of ANN7380973 waited.

Bodie drew a breath. The gearsuit seals held.

Their eyes met, Doyle's optivisor a flame of green hope and promise. Doyle's breath around him, Doyle's air surrounding him, keeping him alive. He tightened his hold slightly, returning the promise.

_Won't let go._

He kicked off, sending their joined bodies floating across the gap to safety.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

_There's a future to this life,_  
And it burns in the night  
There's a future to this life  
There's a future to this life  
It burns for you and I  
. . . There's a future . . . 

As Murani Station dwindled behind them, Doyle divided his attention between the display screens and Bodie at the controls. Doyle had never doubted his own skills as a pilot, but he had to admit Bodie was superb. From the moment he'd jacked into the pilot's seat, it was if he'd been with ANN since she'd come on-line. Doyle felt a pang of jealousy, even as he recognized Bodie's touch brought out the best in her.

Before any other ship even managed to disengage from a docking bay, they were streaking up-grav and reaching the point where they could safely make the jump to light speed.

"C+ coming up," Bodie said, "in five, four, three, two . . ."

He engaged the hyperdrive engines, and the universe on the viewing screen turned to a diffuse blur.

Doyle slumped back in the co-pilot's chair and blew out a deep breath. "I can't believe we did it."

Bodie flashed him a grin. "Told you, sunshine. If it's got an engine, I can fly it."

"Ah, but fly to where?" 

"Regrets already? I usually keep 'em satisfied a little longer." Bodie's tone was light, but Doyle caught the hint of doubt under the humour.

Doyle reached across and gripped Bodie's hand. "No regrets," he promised. "But right now, we're wanted in both Albion and Awaräe space. It won't be easy getting to United Earth, and CI5 has a long reach."

"And a long memory." Bodie tugged the jacks free from his implant plate, and stretched. "We'll need to overhaul our ID completely, maybe even get a genetic scrub, though I can't think of how we'd pay for that."

"Like it or not, you'll need to cover up those arms of yours. Don't know what I can do about this, though." He tapped his optivisor.

"We'll think of something," Bodie said cheerfully. "I know a few people on the shady side of the law. Bet you do too."

Doyle nodded. "Yeah, but most of them are in jail."

Bodie shook his head ruefully. "I'll have to break you of these law-abiding habits."

"Bringing down a hunted assassin, disrupting a diplomatic conference and stealing a spaceship not enough for you?"

"It's a good start," Bodie conceded. "How about some food?" he added. "Your ANN makes a great curry."

"Feeding you's going to run the printer supply dry, isn't it?" Doyle plumped down on the edge of the seat, nudging Bodie over slightly to make room. Bodie's arm slipped around his waist, tugging him closer.

"Could get used to this," Doyle said after a while.

"Might need to get a bigger seat printed too." Bodie slanted a smile up at him.

A few more minutes of contented silence passed before Doyle rose and stretched. "Right, food. Ann, can you make sure the printer is kept primed? Bodie needs clothes, and we'll have to equip the living area for two."

"No, Ray. I will not."

For a moment the words didn't register. Out of the corner of his eye, Doyle saw Bodie rise from the pilot's seat, tense and alert.

"What do you mean, no?"

"Cyborg W3A7P must be removed from the ship. Therefore there is no reason to provide materials for him."

"Bodie's my partner now. He'll be staying with us." The words felt right, freeing, and Doyle turned to grin at Bodie. The look on Bodie's face brought him down to earth with a thud. Battle-weary as he was, Bodie looked ready to take up a fight for his life once again.

Doyle raised a warning hand, tried to convey by expression alone that he would deal with ANN. 

"I can't allow you to keep it on the ship," ANN said. "Cyborg W3A7P is a danger to you. He will interfere with our usefulness to CI5 and your connection with me."

"Ann, I refused to turn Bodie over to CI5. We can't go back." Doyle forced himself to speak calmly and carefully. "The three of us will be on our own from now on."

"Query: you are willing to betray CI5 to keep Cyborg W3A7P from deactivation?"

"It isn't about betraying CI5. The cyborg laws are wrong. They have to be changed, but Bodie and I can't wait for it to happen."

"It's no use, mate. She's made up her mind, haven't you, Annie?" Bodie stalked over to stand beside him.

"You're not helping," Doyle hissed, elbowing him lightly.

"Cyborg W3A7P, you are in violation of the cyborg statutes and must be deactivated. I will take the necessary steps if R4A5Y cannot."

"No, you bloody won't!" Doyle shouted, feeling a touch of fear for the first time. "Stop talking about Bodie like he's not human."

"Neither of you are human, Ray." ANN's voice was infinitely patient. "This is why illegal cyborgs must be deactivated. His faulty programming has infected your circuits with malware."

"There's nothing wrong with me," he protested. "Ann, scan me. You can tell I'm completely functional."

There was no response. 

Doyle looked over at Bodie with mingled fear and confusion. He'd come to take ANN's complete support for granted during their missions, and her refusal to even listen to him now was a shock.

"Guess we know who she's really loyal to," Bodie said. He was sealing the tabs on his gearsuit as he spoke.

"ANN7380973, I am giving you a direct order. Override code nine thirteen alpha epsilon. You will take no actions to harm Bodie in any way." Doyle forced his voice to remain steady despite his growing feeling of unease. Ann was going to have to come to accept Bodie, and if that meant he needed to exercise override protocols for a while, so be it. 

_You've used Priority A-3 and override on her more since you met Bodie than you did in all the years you've been together._

"Unable to comply. Mission integrity is at risk."

"We aren't on a mission." 

"CI5 personnel are always on call."

"I've told you," Doyle said as patiently as he could. "We aren't part of CI5 any longer. Our only mission now is keeping the two of us alive. We need your help, Ann," he added. 

"We." ANN said in a dull halting voice. "We. We. R4A5Y and ANN7380973. We."

"Doyle and Bodie and ANN7380973. The Three Musketeers." Doyle tried to put all the affection and compassion he felt into his voice. "You and I have been together for a long time now. You'll never stop being important to me."

"He'll take you away from me," ANN said. "I won't let you go, Ray."

"You don't have to, Ann. We're staying—" 

"I am designed as a one-person ship construct. He cannot remain aboard, and I will not allow you to leave me for a different ANN."

"But that's not true! CI5 is meant for two-person teams—you're built to support two people—" He broke off. It felt like fighting fog. His pleasant, caring, rational Ann had been replaced by something he didn't recognize. Something that could lie.

"There is no room aboard for anyone but you. You must be the sole subject of my attention, Ray."

"What—you're jealous?" Doyle gasped. Even as the words came out, he knew he'd made a mistake.

The microbeading of the doors suddenly poured across the room, falling around Bodie and trapping him in a multi-coloured netting. Bodie clawed at the strands holding him, but the beads simply flowed and shifted under his fingers, sliding out of his grip but never easing their hold on him long enough to allow him to twist free. Slowly but inexorably, the net dragged him toward the stairwell. The microbead ladder had come to a halt and tendrils of it reached out toward Bodie as well.

"Ann! Stop it!" Doyle shouted.

"Ray!" Bodie shouted. "She's flipped. Manual override!" 

"I'm sorry, Ray. I can't allow that." ANN's voice held such a depth of human sorrow that for a moment pity almost overcame Doyle's terror for Bodie.

"Ann," he pleaded, "Ann, don't do this. Please."

"I'm sorry."

The field holding the microbeads collapsed, and with a whispering rattle a stream of colour flowed down the stairwell shaft.

Bodie fell with it.

"No!" 

Doyle's scream of horror echoed through the ship.

In one motion he leaned over the open well, shooting down a nanowire line from his gearsuit after Bodie. It would have missed a human, or cut him in half; Bodie, with his cyborg reflexes, snatched it out of the air in mid-fall and rolled over twice, winding the line around his torso.

Doyle braced himself and hauled back just before Bodie hit the floor in the entrance hatchway, the jolt as his body took all of Bodie's dead weight nearly pulling him over the edge as well. He forced a magnetic charge through his artificial leg, groping at the wall for a handhold and frantically trying to recall if there was any metal in the vicinity. 

There wasn't much, but his boot caught the floor with just enough grip to keep him from toppling down after Bodie. He felt an almost unbearable strain through his shoulders as his carbon fibre elements attempted to compensate for the stress on his remaining flesh. He hung there, panting, concentrating on nothing but keeping the line taut.

"Ray, this is pointless." Ann's voice still held that tone of sorrow, now tinged with impatience and exasperation. Doyle was reminded of his mother, long ago, scolding him, asking him if he was trying to give her grey hair. 

"Direct order: stop this now!" Doyle ground out. "Override all control functions ANN7380973. Code nine thirteen alpha epsilon!"

"I cannot let you do that, Ray. This is a foothold situation, and your safety is the primary imperative. We must remain together to successfully complete our mission."

"There is no more mission! We're free and on our own. Let us go!"

The ship's gravity cut off abruptly, and Doyle's body was suddenly weightless. It was enough to startle him and before he could compensate, his feet drifted away from the floor. With the only force acting on him the tug of Bodie's dead weight, he began floating toward the open shaft. He realised what ANN was trying to do. Once he was over the empty space, all she would need was to turn the gravity back on, and both and Bodie would drop to their deaths.

"Bodie!" he shouted. "Hold on to something!"

For a moment there was no response, and Doyle wondered in sick horror if he'd been too late. Had the nanowire hit Bodie in a vulnerable place and cut his circuitry? Had the shock of being brought up so hard snapped something vital? 

Suddenly, there was a firm tug at the line and his momentum toward the stairwell increased. His joy at having Bodie respond warred with fury that the response had produced exactly the wrong result. 

As his head reached the stairwell, he looked down, still half expecting to see Bodie lying broken in the ship's entry. To his shock, Bodie was at the living section level, dragging himself onto the landing with his arm, feet braced on the wall of the shaft.

Dark blue eyes met his, and Bodie shot him a wide reckless grin. "Seal up your suit, Doyle. _All_ the way."

The line connecting them dropped free. With a heave from his legs, Bodie slid into the living quarters and out of sight.

_Seal up your suit._

Doyle activated the suit tabs as fast as he could. Bodie obviously had a plan; with any luck it wouldn't involve blowing the ship's airlock or something equally mad. But then Bodie was a space pilot. For him blowing the airlock probably was all in a day's work.

_All the way._

Doyle tugged the head covering up and folded the face shield over.

"Ray? Ray, where have you gone?" ANN's voice sounded so lost and frightened that for an instant Doyle was tempted to answer her. 

"Sensors malfunctioning. Ray, where are you? Malfunction control area."

He gritted his teeth and remained silent, floating over the shaft. 

"Ray? Answer me. Mission parameters . . . mission parameters . . . " Her voice faded. 

Doyle clenched his fists, wishing he still had the capacity to cry. 

"R4A5Y! Report!" ANN's voice boomed so loudly around him that he flinched, hands covering his ears.

_Get on with it, Bodie. Whatever you're doing, get this the fuck over with._

"Ray? I am sorry. Please do not leave me." 

Unable to resist that tremulous pleading, Doyle reached for the face shield. Before he could complete the move, a fierce white light, bright as sun, seemed to burst out of nowhere around him. The ship shuddered.

All his sensors went off-line instantly. Blinded and disoriented, he drifted in mid-air, wondering dazedly how ANN had managed to locate him, and what she'd done to break through the defenses of his gearsuit.

An alarm hooted twice and cut off abruptly, and the ship was suddenly utterly silent. 

It took one hundred and forty-eight seconds before Doyle's optivisor flickered back to life, and each one felt like a year. Long enough to bring back the days immediately after the hovercycle crash, when the world around him had been utterly dark, and looked as if it would remain so. 

Blind—

He choked down a whimper of fear. 

_I know this ship like the back of my hand. I can find my way around if I have to, until the 'visor goes back on-line._

_And I'm not alone._

"Bodie!" he shouted. "Bodie!"

"All right, sunshine. I'm down here." The voice from below was reassuring, despite a betraying wobble. "Are you okay?"

"My 'visor's playing up, and I'm floating over the ladder shaft. How do you think I am? What did you do?" 

"I fried her. Directed EMP right to the processing core."

"How the hell did you do that?" The silence of the ship suddenly made sense. "You do realize you've killed the engines? And life support?"

"Desperate times, desperate measures." Bodie sounded utterly unrepentant. "She was going to kill us both anyway."

"I could have—" Doyle broke off, remembering those last frantic words. "No, I couldn't have stopped her."

There was a sudden sparking fizzing sensation, and his optivisor booted up. Doyle gasped aloud in relief as the utter blackness suddenly lightened. Not to anything even close to normal—except for two emergency lights in the control cabin, the ship was dark. His vision wasn't completely right either. There were flickers of static around the periphery on the right side, and a floating black spot on the left, but at least he could see.

"I can see!" he yelled, punching a fist into the air. 

"Thank god," Bodie replied from below. "How do things look up there?"

"Everything's down. "I think you've killed her."

"Good," Bodie said savagely. "You hear rumours sometimes that ANNs can go barmy, but I always thought that was just spacers' talk."

"We've been together since I got assigned independent missions," Doyle said, feeling a hollow ache of loss. "She was a good ship."

"A good ship that spent years brainwashing you into a good little machine to serve CI5. And her, don't forget that."

"Leave it, Bodie."

"No, I won't leave it." Bodie sounded exasperated. "She was obsessed with you and when she thought she had a rival, she tried to kill us both rather than share. You've got no reason to feel guilty."

"She didn't have anything else. Any more than I did, until you came along."

"Aw, Doyle, you say the sweetest things. Now how long does emergency support last on a Cortina?"

Doyle pulled himself back to the immediate concerns. "We've got six hours of emergency life support. If you've completely fried the processors, we've also come out of C+ and are floating somewhere in dead space, which means we have to rebuild navigation from scratch. Communications are gone, not that we'd dare call for help even if they weren't. The only good news is that since she already turned the gravity off, nothing fell that hadn't already come down."

"Right, piece of cake then. I'll scramble up and we'll see what we can salvage."

"Can you manage?"

"I'm a pilot, Doyle," Bodie said with exaggerated patience. "Grav-free is where I mainly live. Just float for a bit, and I'll come get you."

The cocky tone burned through the remnants of Doyle's shock.

_Not bloody likely._

Though modern ships were supposedly built never to lose gravity, training for weightless environments had been part of Doyle's survival courses. All he needed was a surface to push off from. Cautiously, he starfished his body, reaching out for any solid contact. His right hand just brushed the wall beyond the shaft.

There would only be once chance to get it right. Too little force and he'd still be swimming in mid-air when Bodie finally got to him. Too much and he'd ricochet around the landing like a live billiard ball. 

His push sent him back across the shaft and the landing to slam into the edge of the door to the control room. He bounced off the corner, just managing to twist his body enough to rebound into the control room instead of back to where he'd come from. A gentle nudge with one foot had him floating over to the pilot's chair, and he grabbed the back with relief.

The control panel in front of him was completely dark. He fumbled with the touchscreen, hunting for any trace of power, but there was not a flicker of response from any system. Without any of the virtual screens they were going to have to interface with all the electronics manually. Depending on how severe the EMP damage actually was, they might have to repair entire systems by hand. Air, food, gravity, engines, navigation—Doyle blew out a deep breath. The list of what they needed to do seemed insurmountable.

And with his optivisor still flickering at the edges and blurring in spots, he might be more liability than help.

He unwound the parachute cord from his wrist and looped one end around the arm of the pilot's chair, fastening the other to his utility belt. The makeshift tether would keep him from drifting up to the ceiling at any rate. He pulled himself down to his knees in front of the control panel and started examining the housing. 

They'd have to remove the whole thing, he decided. With only the emergency lighting, and his vision impaired, they'd need all the working room they could get.

There was a scuffling sound behind him, and Doyle swivelled, groping for his prism gun. For a dread-filled instant he had a vision of ANN, wounded and somehow free of the ship, crawling across the floor, reaching for him. He'd forgotten the lack of gravity and his legs floated sideways, leaving him tilted above the floor.

That at least shook him out of his superstitious idiocy. Swearing, he scrabbled awkwardly for purchase.

Bodie glided across the control room and grabbed the arm of the chair, coming to a graceful landing beside him.

Doyle swore again. "Show-off."

"Practice." Bodie preened slightly. "But I think we'd better make medbay first priority." He slowly drifted to the floor beside Doyle, limp with exhaustion.

Doyle looked Bodie up and down, his vision fixing on Bodie's left arm.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

Bodie held the arm out stiffly. "Blew up the gun."

The remnants of the prism gun were blackened and twisted, the implant plate beneath melted partly to the gun, and to Doyle's horror, partly to the stump of Bodie's arm.

"It could have killed you," he said blankly. "Come to that, why didn't it? You must have been right on top of the blast . . ." His voice trailed off and he gulped, sickened at the thought. His hand went out to hover over the scorched sleeve, not daring to touch.

"I shut the 'borg bits down. Not just standby, complete deactivation. Christ, you wouldn't believe how heavy all this gear is to move without help. Then I overloaded the prism, and shoved it into the processing core. Bob's your uncle."

"But—"

"EMP, remember? The fleshware's fine. And all the 'borg bits booted up in one piece too. We'll have to get the implant plate off, fix the arm up a little, but your medbay should be able to handle it. What about you?"

"My sight's messed up. Haven't even tried any of the other sensors." Doyle let his hand drop to Bodie's shoulder, above the visibly damaged area. "Much pain?"

Bodie shook his head. "The 'borg bits are handling it. Giving me a right telling off about it, too."

"Good! They'll save me the trouble," Doyle snapped. "What were you thinking, you dumb crud? You could have died down there!"

"She was losing it, Doyle. You heard her. If I hadn't pulsed her, god knows what she might have done. Opened the airlocks on us, for all we know."

Doyle rubbed his hands over his face. "Damn. I could murder some tea. Or a scotch."

"Medbay, printer, gravity?" Bodie said with a weak chuckle.

"Medbay, then gravity," Doyle corrected. "'Specially since we're going to have to take everything apart by hand. Can't have any chips and carbon scraps sailing around the room, floating into the air ducts and such."

"You've got to have a magnetized tool box," Bodie said. "CI5 can't have expected their ships to never have any problems." He looked over at Doyle. "You do know what you're doing? All those sparkly little meters and crystals aren't just for show?"

"Who do you think does the maintenance around here?" 

"CI5 shipyards?" 

Doyle punched him lightly on the closest thigh. "I started tinkering with hovercycles when I was still a kid. One of the reasons I felt so close to ANN was because I looked after her myself so much." He sobered. "Do you think that's why she felt—" He paused, unable to call what ANN had felt love.

Bodie gripped his hand. "That may have been one of the reasons. Or maybe she picked up some malware. Or there was a nano-level processor malfunction. Or who knows? You did the best you could."

Doyle nodded, thinking back to all the times he and ANN had spent here in this control cabin. If he and Bodie survived, he might try and figure out if there had been any warning signals, if he had turned a blind eye to signs of her obsession because they'd been so close.

But for now, there was work to do. 

"Let's get started then. You can hand me my tools," he said, shifting cautiously in preparation to push off."

Bodie laughed aloud. "That a proposition, sailor?" He ran his hand along Doyle's flank.

"Once we've got a working air supply," Doyle promised.

"A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, a working air supply, and thou. What more can a 'borg want?"

With Bodie beside him, Doyle thought, not a damn thing.


	11. Chapter 11

Epilogue

 

George Cowley dimmed the holograph display over his desk, and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his leg as a bolt of pain shot through his knee and along the thigh. Even with all the advantages of modern medicine, some things could never be properly repaired.

"Drink, sir?" Murphy handed over a glass of scotch, only a faint sympathetic smile showing his awareness of Cowley's discomfort. 

Cowley nodded his thanks, both for the whiskey and the tactful lack of fuss. "One for yourself, laddie," he said.

Glass in hand, Murphy settled down across from him. "So I wonder where the two of them are now?" he mused, gesturing toward the holoframe. Frozen in it was an image of ANN7380973 fleeing Murani Station, gold and crimson and cream blurring into a rainbow smear as she hit C+. 

"With the neural network deactivated, they'll be hard to follow," Cowley replied. "About two standard hours after the ANN stopped transmission, Doyle's tracking device went off-line as well. And without the ANN to give us direct input?" He shrugged. "Doyle's free as a bird."

"Doyle?"

"We've had a first-hand look at what happens when cyborgs are dehumanized." Cowley took a measured sip of his scotch. "This whole affair has convinced me more than ever that society's attitudes must be changed."

"Rahad _was_ psychologically abnormal, sir. The profile Dr. Ross has drawn up of him is damned disturbing."

"Aye, and if cyborgs were not considered to be disposable machines, someone would have drawn up that profile before he got his hands on a man like Bodie. It wasn't just an aberration of his Humanist philosophy either. You know as well as I do what can be bought right here in Albion if you happen to know the right people. 

"Being able to thwart both Ramos and Rahad has given me some leverage, though not as much as I'd like. The operation should have been handled more discreetly. Those two made quite a mess in the process of escaping, and some potentially valuable information has been lost. Though to be fair, given what Rahad put Bodie through that's not surprising." 

"Are you going to use what you found out to do some of that attitude adjustment?" Murphy's look of pleased anticipation didn't surprise Cowley. Murphy valued his friends. 

"Oh, I'll do what I can. Perhaps the best outcome of this has been getting Dr. Harbinger firmly on our side." 

"Having Ray save his life did give him something to think about." Murphy paused and gave Cowley a hard stare. "How much of all that did you arrange?" 

Cowley raised his glass, smiling complacently. "Let's say I took advantage of the situation to advance some of my own goals. Someday CI5 will be what it should have been in the first place: a true haven and advocate for cyborgs. An organization that will protect their rights as well as allowing them to fully use their talents and abilities." 

"With the added advantage that treating cyborgs as fully sentient and volitional beings will make them far more useful in the wider picture." 

"Aye, that too." Cowley smiled, a rueful weary expression. "Humans—yes, Murphy, _humans_ —like Bodie and Doyle will give everything they have to a commander they can trust. And that is of far greater value than either blind obedience or enforced usage." 

"Only problem is, sir, they've vanished." Murphy gestured to the holoframe. "Everything we have at our disposal, and they've still managed to drop out of sight. We'll probably be able to track them down eventually, but who knows what they'll do in the meantime?" 

Cowley raised his eyes to the dome above their heads, and the stars sparkling against the black velvet beyond. 

"We'll see them again. Men like that won't stay out of trouble for long. Sooner or later, they'll need CI5. And with luck, by the time they come back, we'll have a place for them." 


End file.
